In Bloom
by lamentomori
Summary: The seed of their relationship, has sprouted and grown, but with Jon on the road, there doesn't seem to be the time to enjoy the blossom, unless Punk's willing to make a concession or two. Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity, A sequel of sorts to Growing Flowers.
1. Bloom

_Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity. A sequel of sorts to _**Growing Flowers**__

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><p><em>If those are the cinderblocks they built Titan Towers from, no wonder everything is crumbling down round their ears. - Punkin 3.14<em>

The message from Punk was a surprise, he'd given no indication he'd been watching any WWE product since the one time Jon had ordered him to weeks, well _months_ ago. That he was watching Jon get written off television was an unexpected, but thoroughly welcome shock.

_U wntd Seth 2 smash my f4ce in2 concrete 4 real? - sent_

_Well... Realism is important! What you get written off for? You hurt? You didn't tell me you were hurt? Are you coming home or do you want to go hide out in Vegas? I'm not adverse to some nice weather, and Colt's still in Scotland... - Punkin 3.14_

Written verbal diarrhoea is something Jon's been getting used to, with Punk's usual target for his apparent boredom in a different time zone that costs too much money for him to text constantly, Jon's been catching the fallout. He can't say he minds, it's nice, well perhaps not nice, but it's like getting a little glimpse of the madness of _Phil_ behind the more familiar madness of Punk. They might have had their come to Jesus moment, which was gloriously understated and utterly nerve-wracking, but they're still learning each other. Scraping time to spend with Punk remains impossibly difficult, the WWE touring schedule is punishing and Punk refuses to be near anyone or anything WWE related, barring a few notable exceptions. In the far too rare and far too short moments he gets to spend with Punk, he'd somehow forgotten to mention he was going to shoot a movie. Punk's message, the blatant hope that Jon's coming _home_, and he's still not quite over the thrill that thought inspires, is as gloriously sweet, as it is horribly depressing. It's cute how desperate Punk is for Jon's company, cute and utterly reciprocated, which makes telling him the truth of why Jon was curb-stomped through _cinderblocks_ almost something he wants to keep to himself.

"Hey Punkin." It seems easiest to call, to explain in words what's going on, to explain that Jon's going to be away, even _more_ away than usual.

"_Hi! So do I need to get anything special in? Do you need nursing my poor little Cabbage Patch?_" Punk sounds worried, curiously worried, and _cabbage_ is a new one on Jon. He can only imagine it's the result of some rambling conversation between the Saints, if only because most weird Punk related things are generally traced back to a conversation with Colt.

"Cabbage?" Of course asking will keep Punk talking whilst Jon finishes packing his shit up, and trying to work out if he remembered to book a flight to O'Hare. He remembers making sure he'd have time to spend a little while with Punk before filming started, but booking the flight might have been too organised for him. He's pretty sure he did remember, and the scrawled note in his pocket confirms that he has a ticket to Punk's home.

"_Well... You're all chubby cheeked like a Cabbage Patch Kid, and _-"

"I hate your mom." Jon mutters, he can hear the conversation between Cabana and Punk, can hear the moment they both came to that conclusion, and it makes him glad Colt's gone for a month. He's almost certain the blame for the doll comparison can be placed squarely on Cabana's shoulders, and he _almost_ wants to punch the bastard in the face. Of course that would lead to him punching Jon back, and whilst he's got inches on Cabana, the Chicago bred bastard has a weight advantage, and probably wouldn't pull his punch, dating his _Punkers_ or not.

"_Poor Colt... He could be entirely innocent in all this. I mean he's not and it's entirely his fault, but you assume the worst, which is just unfair_." Punk laughs, and Jon smiles slightly, zipping his case shut, and nodding vaguely at Joe, who'd just wandered into the locker room.

_Your woman?_ He mouths, and Jon nods, knowing full well that he's wearing some kind of dorky happy smile based on the grin that overtakes Joe's face. _Say hi_.

"Roman says hi." Jon tells Punk as he continues ramblingly protesting Cabana's innocent guilt.

"_The Rock's cousin?_" He interrupts his own ramble, and Jon laughs, picturing the exact face Punk would be pulling, the almost cute look of mild confusion. "_Uh... Hello Roman_?" Jon laughs at him again, and shakes his head.

"The woman says hello." He nods to Joe, getting pulled into a hug before he grabs his bag and leaves the locker, heading for his rental, fully intent on catching the plane to Punk's hole of a city. He can hear Punk squawking indignant about not being a woman, and how being referred to one is an affront to women, _and _his much lauded manliness, doesn't Jon know that he's a geek trapped in the body of a Viking, which has Jon shaking his head and laughing. Punk is a very odd creature sometimes.

"_So... You've neatly avoided telling me anything..._" Punk trails off and sighs. Jon knows that sound, has learnt it well, has heard it far more often than he wants to have. They might have only been together for a little while, but he's been forced to last minute apologise to Punk for not seeing him more often than Jon wants. Punk understands, he's been on the same circuit as Jon, had it worse for the last few years he was still WWE Superstar CM Punk. Understanding doesn't make it any easier though, doesn't make Jon hate being away from Punk any less, doesn't mean Jon doesn't wake up with a drained cell phone on his chest instead of Punk most mornings, feeling the vice in his chest, and the worms trying to resurrect themselves.

"They... They've got me doing a movie." Jon sighs and gets in the car, hearing Punk chuckle. He sounds actually genuinely amused.

"_Really? Ha! That's kind of cool, Chipmunk._" It seems this conversation with Cabana has spanned many stupid nicknames. Cabana did say he was trying to think of a name that might stick for Jon, though honestly, he thinks he might like some of the less PG one, after all, he's mentally christened Cabana as bastard, it only seems fair.

"Never call me that again, ever." Jon mutters, a smile on his face as Punk laughs, he sounds happy though, and there'd been a hint of pride in his tone when he'd congratulated Jon.

"_No to chipmunk... Maybe to Cabbage Patch?_" Punk laughs again, and the vice makes an unappreciated return. Physical manifestations of emotions are something Jon is tired of, the worms were mostly obliterated by an awkward confession of his love for Punk, awkward though it was, it's something he thinks back on with fondness. For far too long they'd danced around each other, for far too long he kept stomping on Punk's toes in a cruel and fearful masochism tango, when he'd invited Punk to three count waltz gently to the tune of the three most terrifying words in the English language, it'd been an incredible relief. Then when Punk had accepted, _and_ turned out to be a good little dancer, it'd been the best thing ever. "_You've gone awfully quiet_. _You considering Cabbage Patch?_"

"What? No! Thinking about dancing..." Jon shakes himself from his strange thoughts, and considers putting the phone on speaker to drive to the airport or hanging up. "I gotta go, Punkin... I'll call you soon, okay?"

"_I'm gonna expect an explanation for the dancing... Cause your entrance music is horrible for it, and if you think I'm gonna go to some club an-_"

"Punkin... An analogy... The masochism tango." The very idea of taking Punk to a dance club, the very idea of trying to get him to any kind of dancing that doesn't involve bouncing or banging his head makes Jon want to laugh. Punk is many things, some good, some bad, some wickedly delightful, but graceful, elegant, or able to dance doesn't feature anywhere on the list.

"_You're not whipping me... I refuse to be whipped! I am not a government mule!_" He sounds indignant once more, and Jon is beginning to mentally countdown the days till the other Chicago bred bastard is home, because Jon's Sphinx bastard is going insane. Whilst it was cute at first, Punk needs the runoff for his madness his best friend provides far more than he lets on.

"No whipping... I'll call you later, okay?" Jon listens to Punk sigh softly, in his mind, he can see Punk run a hand through his hair, can see the sullen half pout that'll be on his lips.

"_Alright... Call me when you can, kay?_" He sounds as sullen as that mildly ridiculous pout he more than likely is wearing, and as much as Jon wants to keep talking, the sooner he hangs up, the sooner he can get to the airport, it won't get him back sooner, but it'll be one-step closer at least.

"Yeah... Later." He hangs up, and starts heading _home_ he supposes.

When he finally gets to Chicago, it's the tiny hours of the morning. He's fairly confident that Punk will be awake, Punk's usually awake, so he doesn't bother being quiet as he clumps up the stairs, half expecting Punk to say something.

"Hey." He pushes the living room door open, the TV's on so when there's no response from Punk, it's a bit of a surprise. He's curled up on the couch, lying on his side, arms wrapped around a throw pillow. "You sleepin'?" It's one of those moments, glorious little moments where there's some feeling creeping through Jon's body, some strange electricity filling him. It's not a feeling he's ever had before, not one that he's familiar with, but enjoys because it's unfamiliar, unlike the Punk inspired maladies; this feeling is something he adores. He brushes Punk's hair from his face, getting a soft little grumble from Punk. "Shh... C'mon bed, Punkernickle." Punk isn't light, and he's nothing but deadweight, but it's not too hard to scoop him up and carry him to bed.

"Why are you carrying me? I have feet you know." Punk sounds mildly amused and more that a little sleepy, his voice soft and quiet.

"Lemme be all macho, hmm?" Jon kisses the top of his head, and uses his shoulder to nudge open the bedroom door, then drops Punk on the bed.

"Very impressive." Punk yawns, and wriggles under the covers, apparently the loose pants he's wearing constitutes sleep clothes, and Jon strips down, before climbing in behind the snuggled up bundle of blankets Punk's gathered around himself.

"You cold?" He tries to tug some extra from around Punk, trying to add to his own meagre share of the covers.

"Huh? No... Just not used to having you home all that much." Punk lets the blankets go easily, and squirms over to Jon, pulling him to his back, tucking himself up to Jon's side, falling asleep as quickly as Jon.

Domestic was once a word Jon dreaded, but it's now something he adores. Domestic means he gets to spend his time lazily holding Punk, watching TV, and enjoying not feeling even mildly unwell, domestic means their dancing to the beat of the same drum and it's glorious. Domestic is how Jon spent the majority of his scant downtime between finishing with Raw, and going to film this movie. A few days with Punk, pottering around, indulging in everything being on the road means he can't have, which isn't strictly true, there's plenty of opportunity for Jon to fuck rats, but that would defeat the purpose of having a Punk at home. Punk who is perfectly capricious, and as likely to indulge Jon as he is to tell him to fuck off, his plants need watering. It's a ridiculous thing to be jealous of, but there's a tiny part of Jon that's envious of the way Punk sings to his plants, of the way he caters to their every need with gentle fingers, and patience. Domestic is perhaps also the word for Jon himself, he's become rather contented with the idea of a life lived at the whims of his Sphinx, contented with the idea of having nowhere else to spend his days, but lying with his head in Punk's lap.

"You look rather pleased with yourself." Punk's voice drags him from his thoughts, and Jon glances up with a smile.

"I am." His smile doesn't shift, and Punk rolls his eyes, looking mildly put out, before leaning down to kiss Jon's lips.

"Dare I ask why?" Punk laughs, as he settles back against the sofa, his fingers absently stroking along Jon's collarbone.

"No real reason." Jon shrugs, he's not sure there is a real reason he's feeling quite so contended with himself. This might be the last night they have together for a while, but they've done nothing out of the ordinary, a quiet, comfortably lazy day in the same way all the other days have been comfortably lazy. Punk pulls an odd little pout, and Jon smirks at him, reaching up, and pulling him down for an awkwardly angled kiss. "No real reason but that I love you." He smiles as he breaks the kiss, and a rather self-satisfied smirk spreads over Punk's lips. "I recall, not so long ago I was denied a goodbye blowjob by Joe." Punk laughs, and shifts beneath Jon, his smirk fading into a more indulgent smile.

"You were." He nods, shifting more, causing Jon sit up. "I suppose you'd like one now then?" Punk moves to kneel between Jon's legs. "Like this?" His hands are at Jon's fly, looking up at him, waiting for the go-ahead. Jon considers it, and nods vaguely; he does like Punk on his knees. Jon's hand finds its way into Punk's hair, and he moulds it to the curve of Punk's skull.

"How..." Punk glances up from opening Jon's pants, drawing his cock out and beginning to jack it. Jon has a considerable amount of memories of Punk on his knees blowing him, memories of it being something hurried backstage, memories of it being hard and fast, all drool and gagging. Since they've progressed into being in a relationship, he's been _careful_ with Punk, careful because they're domestic, careful because they're in a relationship, careful because _Phil_ is warm and cuddly, and Jon thinks he likes careful, but if he's honest, Jon wouldn't mind being a lot less _careful_. Punk smirks at him and opens his mouth wide, resting the head of Jon's cock on his tongue.

"Punk?" Jon's fingers press lightly against Punk's skull, the urge to pull his head forward, to bury his cock in Punk's throat is strong, but he's holding back. Punk lets Jon's cock drop from his mouth, and rolls his eyes.

"You want a fucking written invitation?" Punk sounds so much like he did in hotel rooms up and down the country, his eyes narrowed, and the last time Jon was in something like this situation, he'd be drunk and convinced Punk that he was going to leave him. This time though, there's a little of cuddly sweet Phil behind Punk's coolly assessing stare, there's more than a hint of Phil in the smile that Punk has to keep fighting to keep his mouth open.

"Jesus... Demanding aren't we?" Jon chuckles, palms his cock, swiping Punk's lips with the head. "Want me to fuck your tight little throat, baby?" Punk snorts, and rests his fists on Jon's thighs, looking to stand, but Jon's hand is in his hair, holding him in place. "C'mon baby... You were all raring to go."

"You call me baby once more and I punch you in the balls." Bristling capricious Punk is firmly in charge it seems, and Jon laughs, a full deep belly laugh.

"Sure... Whatever, Punkin." He mutters, and slides his cock into Punk's mouth, feeling his tongue swirling round the head. "Just the tip?" He laughs, and Punk pulls back, his tongue dabbing at the slit, his eyes locked on Jon's.

"Fuck me. I _miss_ you fucking my throat." Punk's wearing a smirk, and Jon's more than grateful he's getting the verbal equivalent of the previously offered written invitation, is grateful that Punk misses the rougher side of sex. As much as Jon adores the soft, sweet sex that's become the staple of their love life, there are times he wants something rough and dirty, to have Punk offering him it, is more than appreciated.

"You sure?" Jon cradles Punk's jaw, his thumb pressing at the joint, making him open his mouth wider. Punk nods, and Jon shakes his head. "Okay, Punkin... Lemme know if it's too much for you." With little preamble, Jon draws Punk's head down, feeling his tongue rubbing the underside of his cock, the head nudging at Punk's throat. "Relax... You can take this fat cock, baby." Jon's hand tightens in Punk's hair, and he smirks at the glare he gets from Punk. "That's it." Punk takes his cock a little deeper, and Jon holds his head still, staring down into Punk's eyes as they widen slightly, his nostrils flaring. He guides Punk's head back, letting him gulp down air, before thrusting back into his mouth, far deeper than before. He feels Punk's gag reflex make his throat spasm around his cock, a soft chocking sound escaping Punk, and once more he lets Punk back, lets him catch his breath. "Okay?" Punk doesn't answer, he instead sucks Jon down, taking him as deep as he can and starts bobbing his head rapidly, his throat contracting on the occasional involuntary gags he has. Jon holds Punk's head still, and thrusts up into him, rapidly fucking his throat, stopping only when Punk raps on his foot. When Jon releases him, he pulls back coughing. "Punkin?" Jon's hand curves around Punk's cheek, and he shakes his head.

"More." His voice is rough and croaky, the abused edge to it makes Jon's cock twitch, and he concedes to Punk hoarse request, fucking his throat almost without mercy, his hands tightly tangled in Punk's messy hair, holding him in place longer and longer, letting him up for air and to cough less and less. When he comes down Punk's tight throat, his hands are on the back of Punk's head, holding him in place, not letting him pull back and snatch a breath, until there's a sharp little smack to his ankle. Punk's eyes are watery and round, he's gulping for air, his hair's a mess, sticking up at odd angles from the rough treatment, but there's a smile on his lips. In that moment, dishevelled and panting, Punk is more beautiful than he's ever been.

"Jesus..." Jon mutters, swiping his thumb over Punk's slightly swollen bottom lip.

"Ha, I've not been a Jesus impersonator for a _long_ time... I'll have to introduce you to Compton... He's a pretty good Jesus." Punk laughs, the sound rough as it leaves his just fucked throat. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and runs over Jon's thumb, the soft smile stretching into a grin.

"Kind of beat up for Jesus, isn't he?" Jon grins back at him, hands cupping Punk's face as he leans down for a kiss. "Hero might be a better Jesus impersonator."

"Pff... Too fat and too blond." Punk snorts, shoving at Jon's shoulders, and clambering up into his lap. "Course, neither of them are Jewish enough..." Punk kisses Jon, slow and thorough, a hint of the taste of Jon's cum mingling with the flavour of Punk.

"Does that mean your mom is Jesus? Cause I really don't think Jesus would be quite so into-"

"Be _very_ careful with what you say next, Cabbage Patch. You owe a lot to my Cabana." Punk smirks, and Jon cups the back of his head, pulling him down for another kiss. Jon has to break it to laugh, more amused than he should be at the ridiculously overly protective nature of Punk towards Cabana. It'd be sad if the sentiment wasn't so blatantly returned, even with an ocean between them, the Saints look out for each other. Jon's not entirely certain, but he'd like to think his Shield brothers would be at least half as protective over him, he's almost certain that Punk is as protective of him. He's pretty sure Punk would defend him if he felt it was necessary, _even_ against Colt.

"Match-making..." Jon smiles, kissing the tip of Punk's nose. "Was all I was gonna say... Quite the little match-maker your mom." Punk raises an eyebrow, and moves to curl back up at Jon's side, returning to watching the show that's playing.

"Probably time we started returning that favour..." Punk nuzzles against Jon's shoulder, and Jon concedes to the unspoken request that Punk's making by wrapping his arm around him. "You gonna tie your pants or you hoping to get lucky again?" Jon laughs and kisses Punk's hair, but he leaves his pants open, he's always secretly been an optimist.

Leaving Punk is not fun. It wasn't fun when they were still in the mutually beneficial, ill-defined thing, it was all paranoia and nervousness. Then, during the malady stage of their relationship, leaving was giving the horrible minor physical ailments Jon suffered through free reign to fuck with his day. Now, leaving Punk is like condemning himself to poor sleep, and a constant ache in his chest, different to the vice, more like something hollow, something waiting for the warmth of Punk's presence to fill it. It'd been a fairly easy decision to get the train to the airport, the last moment he spends with Punk, he wants to be something _domestic_, not a mildly distant goodbye in a crowded airport. He'd left Punk with a kiss and a vague promise of calling when he landed. It's far from enough, but it'll have to do for a month, because there isn't going to be time to skulk back to Chicago, no matter how much Jon wants to, he's going to be busy, and he knows it.

Every day is the same, yet utterly different. Every day consists of playing at someone else, acting is a lot like wrestling in that respect, but it involves so much more _waiting_. Jon isn't a fan of waiting, his mind is constantly abuzz, he's got a million different paths all planned out, from the ridiculous to the sublime. It's a sliver of comfort in a lot of discomfort. Being on the road and away from Punk is one thing, at least then there are tiny snippets of time he can call, there's endless journeys he can make entertaining by texting, here there's no time. That's probably the worst thing about this whole movie making process, at night instead of having the energy to call Punk, or even accept a call from him, all Jon can do is collapse into bed and sleep.

They're maybe halfway through filming when the ache in Jon's chest becomes too painful to really deal with, he needs Punk, needs to hear him at the very least. It was a spur of the moment thing, sending a text that toed the line between needy and sweet, all but pleading Punk to put his distaste for the WWE aside and come up to see Jon. He didn't get a reply, and he honestly wasn't too surprised. He'd been expecting silence, and honestly almost expects an irritated text from Cabana, with threats and exasperation at how two people can be so stupid, there's literally nothing that will bring Punk this close to the WWE, not even Jon, and it was foolish to ask. Yet nothing comes, and sleep crept up on Jon, leaving him alone in an empty bed, aching with the desire to be sharing it with his capricious Sphinx bastard.

"_Boo_." The bed behind Jon sinks slightly, and he turns, pulling Punk close without really waking up, sleep begins to slip away as he realises that this isn't some kind of incredibly pleasant but utterly false dream. Punk is here, warm and soft in his arms. "_Go back to sleep_." He whispers softly, but Jon ignores him, pulling him closer, nuzzling at his neck, earning a soft little whimper of a noise. He's not entirely sure he trusts this to not be a dream, Punk being there would be far too good to consider, and it seems so unlikely that he'd have made the trek all the way to where Jon's filming just to share a bed with him.

"Why you here?" Jon sounds strangely drunk, even to his own ears, he supposes it's being tired, it's working on this damn movie, the shooting at weird hours, the lines, the prancing around in costume and the waiting, the god-awful periods of waiting around doing nothing that are incredibly tiring for no good reason.

"Got lonely." Punk squirms in Jon's arms, settling himself into a more comfortable position, his fingers petting the skin of Jon's back.

"_Lonely?_" Jon snorts, kissing the skin of his shoulder, already mourning the fact that in scant few hours he's going to have to wake up and somehow persuade himself to leave what will be the utterly compelling idea of lying in bed all day with Punk. He knows lonely, knows it painfully well, and is at war over the idea of Punk feeling that way. Miserable at the thought of Punk wandering around with that aching hole in his chest, but elated that he'd come to sate that loneliness by being with Jon, braving his distaste for the WWE for him.

"Lonely." Punk repeats firmly, nuzzling against Jon. "Love you, missed you too much, so I'm here. How long we staying out here, anyways?"

"_We_?" Jon feels distinctly like a parrot, like he's pointlessly repeating words because as ever, the Chicago bred Sphinx bastard is refusing to say what he means from the get go. It should be annoying, and most of the time it is, but it seems kind of endearing in that moment. A sure sign Jon's been away too long, if he's finding Punk's most annoying habits _cute_, he needs to be reminded of them more often.

"Of course _we_. I told you, I'm lonely, Cabbage Patch." Punk snorts, and moves to straddle Jon, pulling his shirt over his head, and grinning. It seems he's decided that sleeping is over-rated, and with a mostly naked Punk on top of him, Jon is desperately inclined to agree with his Sphinx bastard, especially when he's being quite so unexpectedly straightforward.

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><p><strong>littleone1389 <strong>As ever, Dean-muse does so love to make sure you get your wish... Though with perhaps a little less cooing over little gerbil cheeks than you'd have liked! ;)


	2. Florescence

__Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity. A sequel of sorts to _**Growing Flowers**___

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><p><em>Do I need to make up spare rooms? - Punkin 3.14<em>

"That the woman?" Colby's draped over Jon's shoulder trying to read the message before Jon can reply. He possibly should dissuade his former Shield brother from referring to Punk as his _woman_. Punk definitely doesn't approve, but it seems to amuse both him and Joe, and Jon doesn't have the heart to take easy amusement away from them. About ten months ago, he'd have kicked up a stink about it, but things were very different then. Then, Punk had just walked, left with no explanation, no reason, no nothing. Now, well the situation on Punk leaving WWE is pretty much the same, but the relationship he has with Punk has changed. They have a relationship for a start. It's so far and beyond the ill-defined, mutually beneficial thing, it's something that's slowly building, slowly growing, slowly getting stronger, and more important to Jon. Punk has all but cemented himself into Jon's psyche as a necessity, up there with breathing and wrestling, and Jon's certain he's as high up Punk's list of necessities, though perhaps wrestling isn't on it anymore, he's retired after all.

The WWE has been back to Chicago a few times since Punk left, and each time it's been a little easier, each time the crowd chant his name a little less, a fewer CM Punk signs are confiscated, a few less people told to change their shirts. People seem to be slowly accepting that Punk is gone, but they truly are taking their time, they're still clinging to hope, there's still the incessant bleating about Punk in the dirtsheets, but there's nothing much to be done there. Slowly Chicago seems to be letting their saint go, but to placate them the WWE always puts on a _good_ show. The last time the WWE had been in the Allstate, the Shield had triumphed over Evolution, and the Hawks had been knocked out of the Stanley Cup, the two events not really connected beyond Jon and Punk's relationship. Celebration and commiseration for both of those events had been pizza and a sleepover at Punk's, and it seems that Punk is expecting an influx of WWE roster members once more, only Jon has no intention of letting Colby interrupt his time with Punk. It's been madness since he got back on the road, madness that is comfortable and familiar, but completely awful. When he'd been filming, Punk had come to him, had braved his distaste for the WWE and come to Jon because he was lonely. It's still something that makes Jon stupidly proud. He'd be worth risking having to deal with the WWE for, he'd been worth leaving Chicago to go and sleep in a hotel room for, he was worth _that_ to Punk. It's been far too long since he's had sex with Punk, been far too long since they've kissed, or lain curled up around each other, and there's no way Colby is getting to impinge on Jon's _domestic_ time with his Punkin Pie.

"It is." Jon nods, shrugging Colby off, and finishing getting ready to go. "You want to come have another sleep over?" He might not want the answer to be yes, but he'll still ask. Colby is his friend, his brother, and to not extend the offer of a comfortable bed, and the opportunity for him to fanboy at Punk would be rude.

"Nah..." He laughs, and ruffles Jon's hair. "Your face says that this isn't going to be anything I want to witness." Jon snorts, and hefting his bag to his shoulder.

"I dunno... My woman is damn _pretty_. Everyone should want to witness what I'm gonna." He laughs, and Colby shakes his head, groaning and scrubbing his eyes.

"I'm sure your woman is charming and delightful when in the right mood. Say hello for me." Jon nods to Colby, and leaves at his words, ignoring the few questions sent to his Shield brother about who Jon's mysterious woman is. Its luck more than anything that no one seems to have figured out that Jon spends so much time in this hole of a city for its favourite _retired_ wrestling son.

"I'm calling him on gimmick infringement." Jon can't say he's overly surprised at Cabana being over. Punk's been _clingy_ over him since he got back from the UK in August, and with him going to Japan in October, it seems like Punk is trying to gorge himself on his best friend's company. It's not something Jon's complaining about though; anything that keeps Punk's occasional bouts of insanity from him is a good thing.

"I didn't see any gimmick infringement." Punk sounds more than a little indulgent, but Cabana merely scoffs, clearly, he's convinced that someone somewhere has infringed him and his gimmick.

"Colt-merch dot table." Jon gives up trying to follow Chicago bred bastard logic at that. This is clearly one of those strange conversations that will lead to the Saints having a semi-squabble that'll spill into something more along the lines of the reasoning of children or a tickling match. How the pair of them are considered adults sometimes eludes Jon, but it's fun to watch. There's nothing quite like seeing how childish, and ridiculous _Punkers_ is compared to Punk and even to Phil. It kind of makes him wonder which one is closest to the truth of the man Jon loves, though honestly, he sees more and more of what he supposes is _Punkers_, so that _must_ be the real one. The Sphinx bastard is a confusing and contradictory man, in both word and deed sometimes.

"I'd like to think of it as more of a tribute, seeing as your cardboard head wasn't allowed to stick around for too long." Jon flops down on the couch, getting a peck on the cheek and a lapful of Punk quickly.

"Yeah... I think cardboard me has gotten more WWE TV time than real me ever did." Cabana laughs, tossing the remote to Jon. "I should get going. I'll see you later, Punkers. Make sure he sleeps sometime to night, Chipmunk."

"That one's out, bastard." Jon sneers; he really doesn't want anything linking him to Alvin, Simon or Theodore. He can already hear the moment that occurs to Cabana, can hear the moment he decides that Colby is Theodore, and Joe's Simon. It's not something he wants to have to put up with, he's more than certain a bastard like Colt knows the theme song for the damn TV show. A smirk spreads over Cabana lips, and he leaves the living room, humming. Jon has the terrible feeling the next nickname that's fired his way really will be Alvin at this rate.

"You don't have to." Punk is up and off Jon, trailing along behind Cabana, talking low and soft. Jon shakes his head, he's not jealous of their friendship, not any more at least. It's hard to be jealous of something so utterly _special_. It's a relationship to be admired, but not one to covet, having to deal with Punk in the way that Colt does isn't something Jon's envious of in the least. The role of Punk's best friend is very different, and far less enjoyable than the role of his lover. It would be far too difficult to have to resist the lure of kissing Punk whenever he has a particularly cute pout on his face, far too difficult to resist cheering him up with sex and snuggling if all Jon was, was his friend. Colt Cabana is a man of immense and considerable self-control in Jon's mind.

"When's your mom off to Japan?" Jon asks as Punk comes back, settling on the couch beside him, all warm and soft. It's ridiculous how much Jon misses just sitting together like this when he's on the road. For all that snuggling on the couch was something he'd been terrified of when cuddly Phil had first made his appearance, he's certain that now if all he had was the Punk he had first fucked, he'd miss this. On the road he misses sex with Punk, he would be lying if he said he didn't, but he _craves_ having Punk's body next to him, longs to feel Punk curled up at his side, safe and warm, just content being with Jon.

"October sometime... Don't remember when exactly." Punk mutters, he sounds _slightly_ miserable, and Jon doesn't quite have the heart to call him on his lies. Jon has no doubt Punk knows exactly when and for how long his best friend is going to be gone.

"Will he be back for your birthday?" Jon squeezes Punk tightly, feeling him tense up beside him.

"Why the sudden interest in Cabana's travel plans?" Punk squirms out of Jon's hold, and curls up on the opposite side of the couch, looking as tense as he'd felt. Jon sighs and pulls at his ankles, drawing his feet into his lap.

"I'm just wondering when I'm going to get treated to more crazy texts is all." Jon rubs absently at Punk's toes, feeling them wriggle.

"I can just as soon not text you." Punk pulls his feet back, curled into himself, seeming to be in some kind of mood. Something's bothering him, but Jon isn't in the mood for an argument, certainly not the kind of bitter, snipey one he knows Punk is capable of.

"I like getting the crazy texts..." It's a timid attempt at placating Punk, but it seems to work well enough, the tension seeping from him, his posture relaxing. "I just wish you weren't in the position to have to send them, Punkin." Punk looks over at Jon, shock on his face, and Jon laughs at him, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips. "What? You think I don't know that I'm second on the list for getting crazy Punk messages?" Punk snorts in amusement and winds his arms around Jon, pulling him to rest on top of him.

"I'm sorry... But me and Colt, it's-"

"I know." Jon grins up at Punk, kissing him again. "He's your _best_ friend, and fuck knows I want nothing to do with that."

"You don't want to be my friend?" Punk sounds offended, something stricken in his eyes. The urge to laugh at him is strong, but Jon settles for a soft little smile and another kiss, crawling up slightly, to pin Punk against the arm of the couch. Being Punk's friend really isn't something Jon wants, he wants to be more, he wants what he has, being Punk's lover is infinitely more than being his friend, but clearly, Punk is taking this the wrong way.

"Fuck no... I've absolutely no designs on being a replacement for your mom." Punk stares up at him, his expression layered and confusing. He looks torn between disappointment and elation, and really Jon's certain it's an expression only a Chicago bred Sphinx bastard is capable of wearing. "My designs are on something a lot less... _Familial._" Jon smirks, lapping at Punk's throat and tickling his ribs, getting an odd mixture of a quietly aroused moan and a _giggle_.

"I'm glad... Incest is definitely illegal." Punk squirms beneath him, and Jon leans back, staring down at him. "What?" Jon doesn't have the words for what, he's not really thinking of anything, just staring at Punk's face, staring at his eyes, at the little smile on his lips, the tiny _little_ blush on his cheeks, staring at how stupidly cute and happy he looks. "Seriously, _what_? This staring thing is kinda creepy." Jon shakes his head, his hand resting on Punk's cheek, his thumb stroking under his eye, the bags there smaller than Jon's ever seen them. He looks good for an unemployed layabout. "You gonna say _anything_..." Jon moves from being braced over Punk and pulls him with him, rearranging their positions so that Punk is resting against Jon's chest. "You're fucking weird sometimes." Punk mutters, settling himself so that his arms are pillowed on Jon, his cheek resting on them, letting him stare at Jon's face. The strange silent staring contest lasts for far longer than he was expecting, Jon almost wants to think of something to break the silence, but it's not uncomfortable, for all Punk's stare is unblinking, it's not hard to sit still under it. Once it'd felt like being under a microscope that honed in on all of Jon's flaws, but now, he's pretty sure that Punk _knows_ those flaws and has accepted them as necessary parts of who Jon is. "You're lucky the fact I love you cancels out the weird." Punk breaks the staring contest, and turns to the TV, Jon had honestly forgotten it was still on.

"Hmm, I'm not _that_ weird." He ruffles Punk hair, getting nothing but a haughty snort in response. "C'mon compared to _some_ people I'm normal." Jon laughs, and Punk turns back to him, a smirk on his lips.

"For a given value of _normal_, I guess." He leans up and kisses Jon, a languid slow kiss, the sort of kiss that's completely meaningless, but utterly momentous. "You watching this shit?" He jerks his head at the TV, the remote in his hand.

"Nope." It's true enough; Jon's barely watched anything that isn't Punk since he got home. It should be more alarming that he thinks of Punk's house as home so easily, but it's just another aspect of being domestic, it's another jolt of that unfamiliar but beloved electricity.

"C'mon then." Punk stands, despite Jon's ardent clinging, letting Punk get too far from him isn't something Jon wants, he wants to hold Punk fast and firm until he _has_ to let him go. "Bed." Punk holds a hand out to Jon, laughing when Jon uses it to pull him back down, holding him tightly as he kisses him, one hand straying down to squeeze his ass. "C'mon, bed." Punk breaks the kiss, a grin on his face, and Jon smirks back at him, his hand slipping under Punk's pants to knead at his ass.

"I'm not tired." Jon laughs, and Punk squirms out of his arms, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Didn't say we were gonna be sleeping, did I?" He leaves the room, and Jon clicks the TV off, following along behind Punk, collecting the clothes he's taken off and left behind him like a little trail of breadcrumbs.

When he gets to the bedroom, Punk is naked and prepping himself, his legs spread, knees bent, his feet on the bed, rocking down onto his own fingers, jacking his cock with his other hand.

"This what you get up to when I'm gone, Punkin?" Jon dumps the clothes Punk left behind him in the laundry basket and quickly adds his own, not wanting to tear his eyes away from watching Punk playing with himself. "You lie in bed like this, playing with yourself when I'm away?" Jon perches on the end of the bed, his eyes roaming over Punk's body, trying to decide where he wants to watch.

"Uh-huh." Punk moans, moving a third finger inside of himself. "I think bout you when I do... Think bout you being with me, watching me." Jon lets his fingers trail up Punk's shin, to his knee, then back down to his ankle. "About how much better your hands feel." Punk moans again and Jon presses a kiss to his knee.

"Lemme then." He catches Punk's wrist and stills the hand on his cock. Punk takes his fingers from inside himself and gazes up at Jon. "Let me get you ready." He opens the lube and coats his fingers, easing one inside Punk. He feels about ready from his own actions, but Jon did say he'd get Punk ready himself. He stretches and teases Punk's body, working up to three fingers, with many detours to caress and place little kisses on his thighs. There's no speed in Jon's actions, there's a slow deliberateness behind them. He wants to savour this time with Punk, he's no guarantees on when he'll get another night like this, so he wants to cherish each gasp, each moan, each little movement of Punk's body beneath him as he preps him.

"Enough, enough." Punk eventually tires of being teased and toyed with, his hair is already damp, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright with arousal. Jon grins at him, keeping the desire to tease him just a little more at bay, his own cock is painfully hard, and he wants to be inside Punk as much as Punk wants it.

"I miss this." Jon murmurs when he's fully sheathed inside Punk's body, cradling him close, his hands under his shoulders holding him tightly against Jon's chest.

"This?" Punk's voice is soft and close to his ear, his arms wrapped just as tightly around Jon. "Fucking me?"

"Yeah... I miss you when I'm on the road." It's slightly embarrassing to be so very honest about how he feels, but a lack of transparency was what caused them to dance around each other in the first place. If this _relationship_ is going to work, and Jon so wants it to work, they're going to have to be open with each other. It'll run the risk of being too sappy and scaring one or both of them, but so long as they're scared together, it'll be okay.

"I..." Punk sighs, and presses his head back against the pillow, meeting Jon's eyes. "You remember, when you asked me if I missed you the first time you came here after I retired?" He looks desperately serious, like this is something that's been weighing on him since then.

"I remember." Jon pecks him on the tip of his nose, chasing that miserably serious expression from Punk's face.

"I didn't answer you, not really at least." Punk says quietly, squeezing his ass muscles around Jon's cock, dragging a low groan from his throat. "But if I had..." He closes his eyes and sighs again. "I've missed you since the day I walked." Jon stares down at Punk, watching a dark blush spreading over his cheeks that's nothing to do with his arousal. He's being painfully brave in this moment, Jon knows it must have taken a lot for him to make that tentative confession, and he's grateful for it.

"I'm sorry." Jon leans down and kisses him, trying to make the kiss say what his words sorely lack, he can't really think of the words to say what he wants. He wants Punk to know that he bitterly missed him when he left, the questions he'd asked that day had been in earnest, every one of them from _are you coming back _to _you miss me_? Every question Jon had, and in most cases still does, want an answer for, but not if it's too much for Punk, not if answering him hurts. There's nothing Jon wants more than for Punk to be happy.

"What?" Punk's voice is tiny, so very soft, riddled with something close to pain, and Jon draws back from him, withdrawing his cock, resting the head just inside of him.

"I'm sorry you've missed me. I'm sorry I'm not here more. I'm sorry it took your mom so long to make me realise this is where I should be. I'm sorry _I_ took so long to realise how much I love you." With every apology, he slides a little deeper into Punk, until he's fully buried in his body, whispering _I love you_ against his lips.

"Love you too." There's a smile in Punk's voice, something warm and light, something that sends sparks of electricity down Jon's spine. "Enough of this talking bullshit." Punk squeezes him tightly, his legs wrapping around Jon's hips. "I want you to fuck me with that big, fat cock of yours. Want you to pound my little ass, make me limp for days. Fuck me, fuck my little ass-pussy hard, babe."

"Oh god... I don't sound like that do I?" Jon scowls, and pulls back, thrusting into Punk firmly.

"Exactly like that! It's the _worst_." Punk moans, his nails digging into Jon's back.

"Alright you win." Jon kisses Punk deeply, his hips working smooth and steady, fucking him with powerful but unhurried thrusts. "I'm never talking dirty to you again." Punk laughs, a note of triumph that dissolves into a moan as Jon angles his thrusts to rub against his prostate. He keeps that slow steady pace, building up to his orgasm slowly, enjoying the quiet gasps and low moans of Punk as he fucks him. He can feel Punk's cock between them, hard and leaking pre-cum, but he makes no move towards touching Punk, he's got an idea in mind for how to bring Punk off. The thought brings his orgasm closer, and he speeds his thrusts up, coming with a muffled gasp, his face buried against Punk's neck, feeling his cock still hard between them.

"Move, I wanna come." Punk almost whines in his ear, and Jon ignores him in favour of nibbling at his throat, putting a delicate little mark there, feeling strangely proud that it's going to be there for long after he's back on the road. Every time Punk sees that little bruise, he'll remember Jon over him, putting it there. "C'mon." Punk's writhing beneath Jon, trying to come by rutting against his stomach. "Touch me, fuck me some more, _do_ something." Punk mutters, still moving beneath Jon, his hard cock rubbing on Jon's abdomen. He pulls out of Punk and slumps on the bed beside him.

"There, I did something." Jon smirks at him lazily, and Punk thumps his fist on the bed, scowling at Jon.

"Not that." He moves to straddle Jon's hips, his cock in his hand, jerking quickly. It's a nice image, and one that one-day Jon's going to want to see, but not tonight. Tonight he wants to feel Punk fucking his throat and to drink his cum down.

"C'mere." Jon's hands move to Punk's hips, dragging him forward, until his cock in range for Jon's mouth, and he wraps his lips around Punk's weeping head. A strangled little moan is wrenched from Punk's throat as he shallowly fucks Jon's mouth, his hips barely moving.

"Can I?" His face is flushed, his hair damp, and his expression is as ripe with trepidation as his voice. He's clearly not sure how much Jon's willing to take, but the truth is Jon wants all Punk can give. He wants Punk to fuck his throat as hard and as fast as Jon's fucked his in the past. Jon lets Punk's cock drop from his mouth, and smiles up at him.

"Go on, baby." Punk scowls down at him, and Jon keeps a firm grip of his hips, stopping him from moving. The sleazy dirty talk might be something Jon intends to give up, but _baby_ will probably never be exorcised from his vocabulary. "Fuck me as hard as you like, Punkin."

"Hmmph, you asked for it Cabbage Patch." Punk smirks at the unimpressed look on Jon's face, and thrusts between his lips, not as hard or as far as Jon can take it, but certainly more that he was expecting. He'd expected Punk to tentative, cautious, at first at least, but Jon's not complaining, not when this was exactly what he wanted. Punk stills, letting Jon compose himself, and then starts fucking Jon. It's not brutal, it's not as much as he could give, but it's rough and fast enough for Jon _love_ it. One hand strays from Punk's hip, down to his asshole, a finger pushing inside him, trailing through the cum drying in and around his tight little hole. "_Ah...Fuck._" Punk moans, his head falling back, his hips stuttering. His bared throat, the taut lines of his body, the trickles of sweat running down his chest, the sight draws a moan from Jon, making Punk's hips falter in their fucking once more. "More." Jon slides another finger into Punk, fucking him roughly, pressing against his prostate, trying to match the pace of his hips, trying to snatch a breath when Punk lets him. When Punk comes, it's with his balls firmly against Jon's chin, and three of Jon's fingers in his ass. He seems almost frail when he pulls his cock from Jon's mouth, weak, shaky and soft like a newborn kitten.

"You okay?" Jon's voice is rough, and his throat feels like it's been well used. It's a feeling he's going to cherish tomorrow as he sits on the plane that'll be taking him away from this hole of a city, and his Sphinx bastard.

"No..." Punk curls up at Jon's side, his head on his chest. It's not the answer Jon was expecting, and he tenses beneath Punk, his hands stilling in their gentle petting of his skin. "I'm better than okay." He smiles up at Jon, and nuzzles against him, his voice softly sated.

"Good." They lay silently together, bodies cooling in each other's arms, another one of those gloriously domestic moments Jon misses far too much when he's away from Punk.

"Where you off to tomorrow?" Punk shifts beside Jon, slightly restless, his fingers absently drawing on Jon's skin. It's almost like there's something not quite right with him, and as much as Jon wants this soft, comfortable domestic feeling to remain it's probably not.

"Uh... Somewhere else? I'm not sure. I'll just show up and get on a plane. Why?" Jon presses a kiss to Punk's hair, squeezing him gently. He can feel something in air between them, something weighty and unexpected. It's a feeling Jon doesn't like, he can't stand how dark it feels, it's something that has no business being between them, not now, not after everything they've been through to get to this relationship. "You okay, Punkin?" He asks again, tilting Punk's face up to him. There's an odd distant look on Punk's face, and he shakes his head, glancing away. "C'mon, don't start with this... Talk to me, or I'll call your mom." Punk snorts, and settles himself back against Jon's side. He isn't joking when he threatens Punk with Colt. He's not willing to engage in another round of dancing around each other, so he's not afraid to use Cabana as a rod to beat Punk's stubbornness into submission, forcing him into talking about what's bothering him.

"I _miss_ you." He says quietly. "I think I need to find something to do. I'm... Not _bored_, but I need something to do with my time. You're away, Colt's busy... _Everyone_ has their own lives, and I'm just..." He sighs, and Jon strokes his back gently. He's not sure what to say to that, bored and lonely is the worst. It's not something he wants for Punk, not something he should have to experience, even if he put himself in this position. If he didn't already know that Punk would refuse, he'd genuinely offer to have Punk come with him on the road, the idea of him needing Jon, but Jon being away to be there for him is too miserably awful to consider.

"You could get a new hobby? Some other flowers, maybe? Orchids are indoorsy. You could grow those like some creepy serial killer on TV." Punk laughs at him, and catches one of Jon's hands, lacing their fingers together.

"I could... I could be a breeder, try and make a new species." He yawns against Jon's shoulder, and presses a soft kiss there. "I'd name it after you." Punk sounds sleepy, like before long the only sounds he'll make are the soft snuffling ones of sleep. The air between them feels lighter, like whatever dark mood Punk had slipped into has passed as quickly and as suddenly as it had appeared.

"You'd call it Jon?" Jon kisses Punk's hair once more, feeling just as tired, just as desperate to close his eyes and dream. It's rare he gets a night where his sleep is warmed by Punk's presence, rare and glorious; he wants to revel in a good night's sleep with his arms wrapped around a sleeping Sphinx bastard.

"No... Gerbil Cheeks." Punk murmurs as he falls asleep, and Jon's last thought before he joins Punk in sleeping is how pissed Punk would be if he murdered Cabana.

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**Rebellecherry, Johncenapunkjericholic, littleone1389, and Brokenspell77.**_  
><em>

_As ever I don't intend there to be more of this... But my Dean does like to spring things on me, so there might be... Who knows!_

__**Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.**__


	3. Floweret

___Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Profanity. A sequel of sorts to _**Growing Flowers**____

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><p><em>wood u b p1ss3d 1f eye d1d sno ang3l5? - sent<em>

They've got him doing a kind of comedy shtick. It's not bad, it's kind of fun to be honest, but there's something unnerving about it, like they're grooming him for something he's not sure about. The whole feud with Colby is getting diluted by them throwing Cena into mix. They don't need Cena, but that's not the point. Cena needs them, needs something _high profile_ to do, and the hot angle in the company right now is him and his Shield brother. It makes sense to Creative to have Cena involved, even if it doesn't make sense to Jon. Cena really needs to be somewhere else, he doesn't need to be in _every_ hot angle, doesn't need to be involved in business where he has none. This is a closed feud, it's between Seth and Dean, Colby and Jon, there's no room for Super Cena, but there's no point in explaining that to Creative. As far as WWE _bookers_ are concerned, if it's hot, Cena is involved because Cena is the man. There are times when Jon understands Punk's hatred for Creative.

_Snow angels? - Punkin 3.14_

_eye'v3 d0n3 teh s1t-1n... eye mite a5 w311 st341 teh sno-ang3ls 2 - sent_

_Oh fuck... How can you do that? Alan Turing would have problems with your fucking messages, you know that, right? - Punkin 3.14_

_Wh0? - sent_

_Nevermind... I'll make you watch the documentary. When are you home? - Punkin 3.14_

_I'm not sure, to be honest, Punkin. Maybe a few hours in the middle of the week? - sent_

_c eye c4n wr1t3 n0rm411i 4 u w3n eye w4n7 2 - sent_

_Dick. Let me know, okay? - Punk 3.14_

"So... Your mystery woman lives in Chicago?" Cena's standing too close for comfort as far as Jon's concerned, and he stashes his phone, feeling the vibrations of another message from Punk. He doesn't need or want anyone from the WWE, beyond his Shield brothers, knowing he and Punk are together. It's not shame, or embarrassment that has him wanting it to be private, it's just that it's _private_. If he could, Jon wouldn't let _anyone_ know, not even his Shield brothers, he wants his relationship to be just him and Punk. It's special; it's theirs, and no one else's business. Apart from maybe Cabana, but that's because the Chicago bred bastard cupid really is the one behind their relationship's existence in the first place, without him Jon would be alone, and Punk would be with someone who isn't Jon, which is entirely unacceptable.

"She does..." He nods, keeping the pretence of Punk being his _woman_ up, He is after all dating _the_ persona non-gratia in the WWE, so even if Jon didn't want their relationship kept private, it would only damage him for his work colleagues to know. Colby's made jokes, that Jon half gets, that they should nickname Punk Voldemort. Joe had asked if that made him Harry, which had led to a rambling slightly drunken conversation on Jon being Quirrel or Snape, possibly even Dumbledore. At that point Jon had left his brothers to it, when they get into Harry Potter, he has to tag out. He's seen the films to humour Colby's love of it, but he doesn't understand the whole _canon_, so his opinion isn't worth much.

"I know it's a long shot... But have you... I mean I _know_ you spoke to Cabana, I heard you on his show, but have you seen _him_?" Cena looks anxious, and Jon frowns at him. He knows exactly who _him _is, but he's not sure why Cena's so interested. "I sent him a message, about the Stanley Cup a while back, but nothing..." Cena sighs and Jon resists the urge to demand answers, _good_ answers from him on why he's so interested in Jon's Punkin pie.

"Why you so interested?" His mouth often gets him in trouble, into unexpectedly tricky spots, he hadn't really wanted to ask that, and Cena looks surprised at the cold tone of Jon's words. He's not sure he regrets the iciness though; Cena has no business prying after Punk.

"I just, I wanna know he's okay. By the end, we were friends, well as much as anyone can be Punk's _friend_." Cena laughs, and rubs at the back of his neck, looking contrite. "Sometimes I think he's got a certain allotment of friends, and he filled them all up before he ever came here." He laughs, and Jon scowls. He's not sure that's true, not really at least. He thinks Punk just classifies his friends differently to most people. There are the people who are he can't be without, then his friends, then the people who are his acquaintances, and finally there are work colleagues. The last two groups are easy for him to be rid of, the second in the list a little trickier, and the first group Punk would walk through hellfire for, nothing will drive him from them, or them from him. Jon would like to think he's in that first category, somewhere after his sisters and his Cabana, and Cena should be in the last, at least Jon hopes he is.

"Not talking would be an indication, to most everyone else, that he wasn't interested." Jon mutters, vaguely remembering Punk saying something similar to him when he'd first showed up at his house after recording Colt's podcast. The thought makes him smirk slightly, getting a confused look from Cena. Jon shakes his head at him, and nods at Colby who wanders into the room, talking to some of the other boys.

"He's my friend... Well I _thought_ he was my friend and I'm worried." Cena smiles awkwardly, and Jon shrugs, then shakes his head. If Punk doesn't want to talk to Cena, then Jon isn't going to give him anything. "Yeah, I figured as much... And no doubt Cabana didn't say anything either. Fuck knows, if I was banging Punk, I wouldn't do anything to piss him off either." Cena laughs, and Jon bristles, pissed that Cena so blithely assumes that Punk and Colt are fucking. There's a burning in the pit of Jon's stomach that demands he set Cena straight and tell him that Punk and Colt are close, ridiculously close, but they're not sleeping together because Jon is sleeping with Punk. The roles of Punk's best friend and his lover are filled by two very different men.

"Yeah." Jon sneers, and there's a sudden flurry of activity as Colby barges over, grabbing Jon's wrist, pulling him away with a quick sorry to Cena. He drags Jon to a quiet locker room, a tight little expression on his face.

"What's up?" Colby sounds worried, and Jon's not sure why. "You looked like you were considering murdering Cena."

"He was asking about my woman." Jon mutters, if's he's being dragged to locker rooms he may as well start getting ready for tonight, and he pulls a roll of wrist tape out.

"Oh?" Colby sounds interested, and Jon shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to focus on what he's supposed to be doing tonight.

"He thinks they're fucking." Jon says quietly, wishing he had better control over his mouth tonight. He feels like he's blurting personal shit out for no real reason and it's not like him. He starts to wrap his wrists, focussing on winding the tape round and around, thinking of when he'd watch Punk do the same, binding his wrists in shackles of athletic tape.

"Punk and Cabana?" Colby laughs, and Jon nods, his eyes focussed on his wrists, thinking of Punk's bound with white covering the bright ink on his forearms, thinking of his long, elegant fingers poking out underneath all that stark white tape, of the X's on the back of his hands. "Well, at least he's off the mark." Colby laughs, and nudges Jon's shoulder. "We're not happy about this why?" Jon glances up at him, and shakes his head.

"I'm not not happy." He mutters. He's pissed off with Cena, but that's because he can't tell the bastard to keep his nose out of Jon's business, both professional and personal. Nothing that's going on in Jon's life is anything to do with that gorilla-faced buffoon, and he thinks Punk would like that insult, so he can just fuck off.

"No... You're pissed off and murderous, seriously all this cause he thinks Punk is banging... Oh..." Colby trails off and sits on a bench, a sullen frown on his face. "I miss Roman right about now... This is his fucking forte, not mine." Jon sits down by him, and laughs.

"What me being a dick?" He nudges his former Shield brother, getting a laugh from him. "I'm always a dick... I just-"

"I get it. It sucks, but Voldemort won't do anything for your career, and that's what you've gotta focus on whilst your here." Jon nods and sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knows that's true, and he's had these thoughts himself, being associated with Punk won't do if him the damnedest bit of good, not in the current anti-Punk climate. His position might look secure for now, but it can all change on a dime, being shunted down the card is so very easy for the WWE to do, so he needs to focus on clinging onto his spot.

"I miss him." It's a silly little admission, and Colby laughs softly, wrapping an arm around Jon's shoulders.

"Course you do! We all miss our women! That's what they're for! Loving, missing, then loving some more." Colby laughs, and squeezes Jon's shoulders. "You wanna drown your sorrows tonight?"

"Nah... I'm gonna call the woman, see if he's okay." Jon's really not usually this chatty about such personal things, but there's something about this conversation that makes him feel more relaxed. He thinks he finally understand why Colby and Joe are always so anxious to hear from their women, that he finally gets that being in a relationship on the road is the worst, most lonely thing in the World until you're back home. On the road there's nothing but phone calls and loneliness, back home there's _everything_, and the little tastes Jon's had of everything with Punk makes him feel gluttonous for a feast.

"Is he not okay?" Colby sounds worried again, the Punk fanboy in him coming out in the most painfully obvious way.

"Lonely." Jon mutters, and sighs, remembering the text Punk had sent whilst he was talking to Cena, and fishes his phone out of his pocket to read it.

_I miss you so much... I love you. Call me when you can, okay? - Punkin 3.14_

Jon stares at the message, and stands, grabbing his coat, pulling it on. Colby looks up at him in confusion, rising to his feet too.

"What?" He asks, and Jon offers him an awkward smile, a smile he thinks he's seen Joe and Colby himself wearing; a smile that says my woman needs me. "Say hi for me." Jon nods, heading towards his rental car, intending to talk to Punk from there.

"_Cabbage Patch!_" Punk answers quickly, and Jon tries to not wince or laugh at that ridiculous name, it really does seem to be depressingly stuck now. Punk sounds strange, his voice excited but miserable, and Jon longs to take the misery from him.

"Hey Punkin. You doing okay?" There's a soft sigh on the other end of the line, and the gaping hole of loneliness in Jon's chest expands. It's not a happy sound, that sigh is almost enough to make Jon blow off being where he is to go to Chicago and wrap Punk up in his arms.

"_I'm alright... What you up to?_" Punk sounds so miserable, and all Jon wants to do is hold him, to be there for him, but he's working and too far away. So he starts rambling about what the plan for tonight is, about how he's sick of Cena butting into his feud with Colby, about how he's no idea what they've got planned next. Punk doesn't say much, in fact, Jon almost thinks he's fallen asleep until he stops talking for too long, and Punk prompts him to keep going. Maybe an hour later, Colby appears at the window of the car, rapping on it with his knuckles.

"I gotta get going, Punkin." Jon says softly, the single last thing he wants to do is hang-up for any reason other than getting on a plane to the hole of a city his Sphinx bastard lives in, but he has matches to wrestle and hotdogs to abuse. Punk will have to be okay on his own till Jon can get home to him, but that's not for a few days, and even then, it'll only be for a few hours. When he's there, he's going to have to make Punk talk from the word go, no being wrapped up in how good it is to be home, otherwise this misery will still be in Punk when Jon leaves again.

"_If you're not too tired-_"

"I'll call you." Jon interrupts him; even tiredness wouldn't keep him from calling Punk, especially when he's asking to be called, which is no doubt what he was about to request. It's not something Jon thinks Punk should feel the need to request, there's no way he'll not call, he misses Punk just as much as he misses Jon.

"_You don't have to... Not if it's too much trouble. I'll let you go._" The line falls dead, and Jon scowls at the phone until Colby knocks on the glass again, a worried look on his face, mouthing that they have to hurry they're on soon. Jon gets out of the car, and stashes his phone, struggling against the aching throb of loneliness in his chest. He needs to talk to Punk, he needs to be there with and for him, because there's something wrong, there's something troubling his little Sphinx, and as is his way, he's not being straightforward about it.

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><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**Johncenapunkjericholic, littleone1389, and Brokenspell77.**_  
><em>

_As ever I don't intend there to be more of this... But my Dean does like to spring things on me, so there might be... Who knows!_

__**Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.**__


	4. Floret

___Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Profanity. A sequel of sorts to _**Growing Flowers**____

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><p>When Jon had called Punk that night, the conversation had been stilted, awkward almost. They've never had a conversation like it before; Punk is always eloquent, never unable to articulate his meaning or fumbling for words as he had been, his tone heavy with some weary weight. It's a burden that Jon wants to removed from his shoulders; he wants nothing more than for Punk to laugh, for him to be happy. He wants nothing more than for this timid, nervousness gone from his capricious Sphinx bastard. Punk had tried to assure Jon that he didn't have to come to Chicago if he didn't have time, and Jon had wanted to get on a plane in that very moment. The desire to go to Punk got worse when he said he understood that late night flights and brief visits are too much hassle to bother with, so if Jon didn't want to see him, it was okay.<p>

The whole situation has Jon assuming the worst. It has horrific images running through his mind, it has him assuming that there's someone else nibbling his Punkin Pie's crust and licking his filling. That there might be someone else is a thought that had chilled Jon's blood, and kept him awake all night. The normal physical manifestations of Punk related stress would have been welcome in comparison to the strange feeling of his heart pumping his too chilled, too thick blood. As unwelcome and unwanted as the vice and worms were, they felt much better than the jagged, viscous feeling in his blood. Sleep would have been a much needed reprieve, but it doesn't come, instead a thousand different images of other men touching Punk does, a thousand images that have Jon clutching his cell, debating making a call. It's late, but his mind needs to be put at ease.

"_What?_" The man on the other end of the line sounds annoyed, but to be fair Jon had expected that. It's gone four in the morning; no doubt, he's just fallen asleep.

"Is there someone else?" Jon thinks it's probably best to be direct in this matter, it's probably best to find out as quickly as possible. It won't make it hurt less, but it'll give the wound a head start on healing.

"_Who the... Oh for fuck sake!_" The man the other end of the line starts swearing, and Jon can hear sounds over the phone. The soft sounds of covers being thrown off, more swearing, a door opening then closing. "_Okay, what the fuck have you two idiots done now? Cause I'm playing fucking babysitter to him, and you're calling me at_-" There's a pause whilst Cabana checks the time on his phone swearing when he does. "_Fucking four a.m._" He sounds pissed, and Jon can't say he blames him, it's early, and it seems the Chicago bred bastard cupid is getting it on both sides. It's moments like this that make Jon very glad that he isn't Punk's best friend. Cabana has a difficult and damn near thankless job really.

"Is there someone else?" Jon repeats, and tucks his knees up under his chin, listening to a long period of silence. He's not sure what Cabana's doing, but he's being very quiet about it. The ice in his veins feels like its setting, like it's getting colder. There wouldn't be this silence if the answer was easy, there wouldn't be this silence if Punk wasn't screwing around behind Jon's back.

"_I'm going to kill you, both of you._" He sighs eventually. "_Go back to bed, Punkers. This is nothing to worry about._" He calls, and Jon can't help but wonder what exactly is going on in Punk's house, Cena's easy assumption coming back to him. He knows there's nothing between Punk and Colt, but it's easy to imagine, easy to assume. They're close, so very close; the line between best friend and lover can be_ so_ very thin. "_No, Jon, there's no one else... Fuck me! It might be easier if there was... He's just in a mood._" Cabana sighs and Jon frowns. It's a shock that Cabana assumes that cheating would be easier to deal with than Punk being nothing more than himself. It's almost like he's making a joke about something so very serious. If there was someone else, it would kill part of Jon, a far bigger part of him than he'd like to think about. It's galling that Cabana is so blasé about it.

"Why?" Jon asks tentatively. He doesn't want to piss Colt off anymore than he already is, but he needs some answers, he needs a heads up on what's bothering his Punkin Pie. If Cabana is assuring him that there's no one else, there isn't. If there was Cabana would say, he put all this effort into getting their relationship started, Jon can't see him walking away or letting it implode, especially if there's something making Punk unhappy that Jon can fix. The Chicago bred bastard has proven, time and time again, that he looks out for Punk, and will show Jon what Punk needs from him of its in Punk's best interests.

"_Why? Jesus... Because?_" Cabana laughs, and Jon feels slightly uncomfortable. This is a conversation to have with a Chicago bred bastard, just not _this_ bastard. He needs to talk to Punk; it's clear from the evasive answer that Cabana would rather that too. "_A million reasons, but mostly he's bored. Boredom and Punk are not good friends._" Cabana laughs again, and the next thing he says is muffled. Jon assumes that he's put his hand over the microphone in his cell to talk to Punk. It sounds like he's trying to talk Punk out of making pancakes. Jon can't keep from smiling, it seems his early morning call has roused Punk from his hard-earned sleep, and now he's hungry. There's more muffled conversation, then a long pause, slight shuffling sounds coming over the speaker.

"_Hello?_" Punk's voice is timidly soft, and Jon's heart starts to pound. He hates this nervous version of his Sphinx bastard. He wants this _mood_ resolved quickly, wants Punk back to how he should be.

"Punkin... I'm-"

"_S'okay. Bana told me you were worried I was banging someone behind your back._" Punk laughs, and Jon feels the ice in his veins melt a little. He's unsurprised that Cabana had shared Jon's fears with Punk, but he _is_ surprised that instead of being furious about it, Punk is just amused. "_I don't wanna fuck anyone else, idiot._" The misery in Punk's voice lets up finally, and in its place is a gentle fondness that has Jon grinning like an idiot.

"I'm sorry, baby... It's just you've not been yourself." Jon expects some kind of ill-tempered response to calling Punk _baby_ but he laughs instead, the ice melting a little more.

"_Colt says I'm in a mood too._" Punk laughs, and Jon closes his eyes relishing the sound of Punk's genuinely amused chuckle. It's been so long since he's heard that laugh; he's missed it almost as much as he misses Punk in his entirety.

"_You are in a fucking mood, you miserable cunt!_" Cabana sounds annoyed again, and Jon has the feeling that once this call is concluded the Saints will not be returning to sleeping, but rather having a conversation Jon is grateful to not be part of, and possibly pancakes, which Jon would quite like, Punk makes damn good pancakes.

"_No I'm fucking well no-_"

"You are, Punkin..." Jon interrupts, and Punk laughs down the line. It's so far beyond good to hear him laugh, so much better than the misery Jon had to listen to earlier. "I'm gonna fly home Tuesday night, head out early Thursday morning... So I'll have all day Wednesday to pick your pretty little head to try and get you out of it though." Punk laughs again. "I love you, Punkin Pie. It _worries_ me to know you're not happy." There's a slight pause from Punk, before he huffs a soft chuckle.

"_Don't worry about me, I'm fine. Love you too. I should let you go. You'll have an early start._" He sounds a little happier at least, but no matter what he says; Jon is in no doubt that he's far from fine, and that this is far from resolved.

"Wait, lemme speak to Cabana, I need to apologise for waking him up." This gets another laugh from Punk, and Jon can't keep the smile from his face, the ice in his blood utterly thawed by the sound of Punk's happiness.

"_Apologising to my Bana? Good boy, Cabbage Patch._" Punk chuckles, and Jon laughs back at him, his heart feeling so much lighter at that ridiculous pet name. "_Colt! C'mere! Gerbil Cheeks wants to say sorry!_" He's never going to be happy to hear _Gerbil Cheeks_ though; Jon can only hope that if he doesn't react to it, Punk and his bastard best friend will let it die the painful death it deserves.

"_Sorry?_" Cabana sounds more awake, and Jon steels himself for what he's about to ask. He can't let Punk get lonely again. He and Cabana need to work something out between them, especially for when Cabana's back in Japan later in the month.

"Stay with him. I'll be home early Wednesday morning. Don't leave him on his own, _please_." Being alone is only part of the problem, but it's a big one and for now the most easy to address. When Jon's back in Chicago he'll deal with the rest of the situation, but there's nothing he can do about it from his hotel room. He and Punk need to talk, need to get to the root of this quickly, because a miserable Punk makes for a miserable Jon, and he has no intention of being miserable, not when he's in a relationship with Punk. This relationship is the root of all of Jon's happiness, and this whole exercise has showed him that it'd be just as easy for it to be the root of his misery too.

"_Yeah... No problem, I was gonna anyways. Look, I'm gonna be gone soon, and... I've been drumming up something of a roster to keep him occupied, but seriously, force him to find a hobby or something. I'm getting sick of maudlin cunt Punkers, he's a bigger asshole than the normal version. Oh! And Jon, don't forget his birthday, I know you're working, but seriously make it... Special for him._" Cabana hangs up, and Jon frowns slightly. He hadn't forgotten Punk's birthday, it's just a long ways off, so he'd not thought about it. Cabana makes a good point though, this is the first major _celebration_ they've had together, it is _special_, and Jon's going to have to think up something good that can be done from a distance, because he's going to be nowhere near Chicago come October twenty-sixth.

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><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**JersmanKay, Johncenapunkjericholic, Rebellecherry, littleone1389, and Brokenspell77.**_  
><em>

_I think Deanmuse and I have hashed out the rest of this (the bastard likes to change things up though), so we're looking at about two or three more chapters, for those of you interested. :) _

__**Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.**__


	5. Inflorescence

___Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity. A sequel of sorts to _**Growing Flowers**____

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><p>Jon gets to Chicago, to Punk's home, in the small hours of the morning, and he's not surprised to find it in darkness. He is surprised to find the Saints curled up on the couch, the TV on some history channel, the sound turned down low, both of them fast asleep. He's not entirely sure what to do with the tangle of limbs that's on the sofa, and he sits down on the other one, staring at them. Cena's assumption comes back to him, but there's no way that the messy way Punk and Cabana are twisted around each other can be seen as anything other than being like two puppies huddled up for warmth. They're a platonic jumble, nothing more, nothing less. Jon thinks it'd be too strange to sleep in Punk's bed alone, but he's tired. He wants to sleep, more specifically he wants to sleep with Punk in his arms but extracting him would be <em>difficult<em> at best.

"_Colt_." Jon hisses, gently prodding Cabana's shoulder, getting a sleepy snuffle and a vague groan from him.

"Take 'im and fuck off." Cabana untangles himself from Punk and curls up at the opposite end of the couch. It almost seems like he didn't really wake up, and Jon stares at his back. He wanders to one of the spare rooms, dragging a comforter back, dropping it over Colt, before scooping Punk up, carrying him to bed, where he curls him in his arms. Jon's certain that Punk will be confused when he wakes up, but he's relieved that he slept through his being moved. Whilst they need to talk, at ridiculous o'clock in the morning isn't the right time at all.

"This is not where I expected to be." Punk's voice jars Jon from a strange dream, something darkly unhappy that he can't quite remember.

"No?" Jon grins up at him, Punk's braced over Jon, the covers tented over his head, his eyes still soft with sleep. "I can't think of anywhere I expect you to be more." Punk shakes his head at the grin on Jon's face and leans down to kiss him.

"Colt still here?" He asks, moving to settle beside Jon, making a softly contented noise when Jon pulls him close, kissing his hair.

"No idea, left him on the couch." Jon assumes that Cabana will either be asleep or have gone back home. It's difficult to tell which, he doesn't know the bastard well enough to make a good guess.

"Probably still there, won't wake up for hours." Punk chuckles and nuzzles against Jon's neck. Jon catches Punk's chin and pulls him up for a kiss. He's missed Punk so much more than he'd realised. It's only when he gets _home_ that the full extent of how much Jon misses him on the road occurs to him. It's easy to realise the gaping hole in his chest when it's filled with Punk's presence.

"So... I didn't get any when my friends were here, do I when your mom's downstairs?" Jon laughs when he breaks the kiss, and Punk pulls away from him, horror on his face.

"_No_!" He scrambles out of bed, seemingly content that the clothes he's still wearing are acceptable, and leaves the room.

"Where you going?" Jon calls after him, following him downstairs.

"Raise and shine, Bana!" Punk's pulling open the curtains, and in general being far noisier than usual. Cabana grumbles, sitting up on the couch, huddled under the blanket Jon threw over him earlier.

"Jesus man... Feed me before you throw me out so you can have welcome home sex." He follows Punk into the kitchen, and Jon shakes his head at them. There is nothing sacred when it comes to their friendship, there seems to be _nothing_ they won't discuss, but Jon really doesn't want his sex life shared with a bastard like Cabana.

"Take this and go, you look like shit, buddy." Punk's handing Colt a little brown baggy when Jon enters the kitchen, a worried look on his face. "Are you getting sick? If you're sick, you should stay home... Japan's no fun if you're not well." Punk's hovering and Colt meets Jon's eyes over his shoulder.

"Punkers." His hand rests on Punk's shoulder, pulling him into a one-armed hug. He says something in Punk's ear, something low and quiet that Jon doesn't catch, something that has Punk nodding miserably. "C'mon Gerbil Cheeks, show me out." The awful nickname makes Jon wince, but it does make Punk laugh so he'll let it go for now. One day though the bastard is getting paid back for it.

"So, how come you can't find the front door on your own?" Jon asks, following Cabana, watching him pulling his sneakers on.

"Don't let him be evasive. He's being an idiot, call him on it, okay?" Cabana looks up, a slight smile on his face.

"How-"

"You'll be fine, man. I got faith in you." Cabana starts doing up his coat, and when he's ready to go he stops and stares at Jon for a few seconds. "Jesus, how are you _both_ so bad at this?" He laughs, and pulls Jon into a firm hug. "You're doing fine, Jon. Trust me, if you weren't I'd kick your ass. He gets like this every year, so make it _special_." He grins at Jon when he lets go.

"Any ideas?" Jon mutters, he's not sure what to take from Cabana's speech other than Chicago bred bastard cupids give impossibly good, but mildly intimidating pep talks, and that it's Punk's birthday that has him in a mood. Jon can't really remember much about the birthdays Punk had when he was in the WWE, he thinks there'd been no real difference in him, but Cabana's implied that getting older _upsets_ Punk, so he must have hidden it at work, because there's no way he'd going to disbelieve Cabana when it comes to Punk and his moods.

"If I gave you an idea, he'd know. Look, I love Punkers, but he's asshole sometimes, and he likes setting these tests to see if the people he letting close deserve to be there." Colt looks sympathetically at Jon, and Jon fidgets. He can't help but wonder how many and how difficult the _tests_ were to become Punk's fully accepted, fully trusted _best_ friend.

"How the fuck do I know what's a test and what isn't?" Jon wants to demand that the smirking bastard opposite him writes a list of tells for Punk down, so he has some idea at least.

"Jon... Remember when I told you that you two were similar?" Cabana opens the door, tugging his collar up against the wind. "If you'd set it as a test, it'll be one from him." He laughs, turning to leave but pausing on the step. "How am I doing with the being Jon Good's friend tests, anyways?" He laughs again, and Jon smirks at him. He thinks the bastard might be doing pretty well on that front, but he certainly doesn't need to know that, he'd only use it to his unfair advantage.

"Fuck off, never darken our door again." Jon smirks at him, getting a laugh in return, a laugh that Jon thinks might be because he implied that this was his home as much as Punk's, it's an implication that has Jon feeling slightly _giddy_ inside, one he'd made without thinking, but can't say he regrets.

"Tell me when you're off. I'll drag his ass out for a run." Cabana waves over his shoulder as he leaves, and Jon closes the door behind him. "That's your mom gone!" He shouts up the stairs, heading back to the kitchen, arriving to a plate piled high with pancakes, bacon and maple syrup. "Fuel? Good, we're gonna need the energy." Jon laughs and sits, sipping from the cup of coffee beside his plate. Punk sits opposite him, his own stack much more modest and lacking bacon. Even now, even out of the business, it seems Punk still has his body image issues. It's utterly unfathomable to Jon that Punk could look at himself and see anything short of perfection. His Punkin Pie is beautiful with his soft curves, and gentle swells. If those glorious thighs of his were rock solid, they'd be so much less than they should. Punk isn't a creature that's designed to be all hard and cut; he's a creature that was sculpted from the finest clay, not hewn from a cliff face.

"You wanted to talk to me, right?" Punk says quietly, making a half-hearted start on his food. The mood in the room changes, shifts from the almost playful one that had been there. It seems that Punk has decided that he doesn't want to wait to sort their mess out.

"I do." Jon nods. He can see the value in getting this sorted early, once he works out what's wrong with Punk; they can focus on the equally important matters of snuggling, the new season of the Walking Dead, and the much-missed sex. "So... What's wrong?" Going for the jugular, will do one of two things, it'll either have Punk clamming up and saying nothing, or throw him for a loop and he'll spill everything. Jon _thinks_ it'll have the later effect, but that's only because it does to him. People don't often come right out and ask what's bothering Jon, they try and work it out. It bugs Jon, so he has little doubt that it bugs Punk. It's like Cabana said, he and his Punkin Pie are _similar_.

"Colt wants kids." Punk says quietly, not looking up from the food on his plate, the air around him thick with a miasma of misery. Jon stares at him, he's shocked, but not really sure why. Cabana is older than Jon, and Punk's older still. It's no real surprise that at least one of the two Saints is feeling broody, but maybe that's the problem with Punk as well as Cabana. It might be that he wants kids too, and there's no way that Jon can give him that.

"Do..." Jon clears his throat, and sets his fork down, taking Punk's from him, and catching his hands. "Is that what's wrong? You want kids?" Punk stares at him and starts laughing, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Being laughed at by Chicago bred bastards is nothing new to Jon, not anymore, but it's still kind of irritating, especially when he's feeling on the back foot. The idea of Punk with a baby is _cute_, he'd look very _cute_ cradling something small and fragile, but Jon isn't ready for that stage in his life, not yet at least.

"No... _No_." Punk shakes his head, and laughs again. "You're young, Jon." The amusement in his voice dies a pitiful and swift death. "You're gonna want them one day, and there's no way I'm ca-"

"_If_, and fuck me that's a big if, I decided I wanted kids, I'd adopt." Jon laughs; it's a ridiculous thing to have decided is a problem. It's nothing but borrowed trouble, and that's almost a relief. However, there's still the problem of Punk's birthday to come. He's not sure what the entire extent of that problem is, but Jon can guess. Birthdays are a reminder that you're getting older, and for kids like him and Punk, they're also a reminder of the crushing disappointment of knowing that the people who should be the most happy about you surviving another year, don't care. He thinks this birthday might have Punk in a mood for a several reasons, but a big one is the fact his _best_ friend is fucking off to Japan instead of being there for it.

"_Adopt_?" Punk blinks at him, his eyes big and confused. It's a stupidly _adorable_ expression for a fully-grown man to be wearing, but Punk does have a talent for looking far cuter than a fully-grown and bearded man should.

"Yup... I grew up in a shitty way, Punkin, a _real_ shitty way. I saw one too many kids stuck in shit, and I-"

"That's noble." Punk smiles at Jon, he looks curiously proud of what Jon just said, and in all honesty, that alone makes Jon feel kind of proud too. He saw some truly grim things as a kid, and if he can, he wants to help the kids that are already in the World rather than bringing more into it. If only because he's not sure his genes are anything worth passing on. The man he is, the man he's becoming with Punk at least, might be something kids could learn from though.

"Not really, Punkin... Not really." Jon busies himself with eating once more, feeling the weight of Punk's gaze on him.

"Cabana's gonna be in Japan, you're gonna be working... The people I want around most are gonna be gone." Punk says after a long while, his plate empty, and Jon looks up at him. He had a feeling this whole birthday thing was more of a deal that you'd at first assume, and he's certain that's what Punk's talking about.

"I ca-"

"No. If you're gonna say what I think you're gonna say, no you can't. You're working what should be the main event, so you'll fucking well be there." Punk pushes his plate to the middle of the table and sighs. It's been a long time since Jon's heard the frustrations of CM Punk in his Sphinx bastard's voice. "I've already had Colt offering to beg out, if I'm not letting _him_ stay here to deal with my shit, I'm sure as hell not letting you." He downs the last of his coffee, and goes to the pot, pouring himself another cup. "It's the same every year. I'll get over it... But heaven help you when I turn forty." He laughs, the sound full of self-deprecation.

"Jesus... I better not be working that day." Jon laughs and goes over to Punk, wrapping him up in a tight embrace. "If this is over turning thirty-six once you hit middle-age, I'm gonna need to spend _weeks_ pampering you." Jon lays gentle nipping kisses along the back of Punk's neck, feeling him shiver.

"_Fuck_... I really will be middle-aged soon..." Punk mutters, turning in Jon's arms. "I'm gonna have to get prescribed viagra before too long." He laughs, and leans into kiss Jon, a kiss that seems to be more about Punk tasting him than anything else. "I miss bacon." He murmurs when he breaks the kiss. It might be cruel, but Jon can't keep from laughing at him. There's a part of Jon that wants to make Punk a bacon sandwich, just to see what he'd do when presented with it, but that's not something to pull right now, so he lets the bacon comment slide.

"Won't that break your _straight edge_?" Jon strokes Punk's sides through the shirt he's wearing, considering if this is the matter resolved or if this is just a coffee break before getting back into it.

"No... Not if it's prescribed." Punk pulls away, steps around Jon and begins clearing the table.

"I don't think you're old, Punkin." Jon starts filling the sink, intending to wash, leaving Punk with the more annoying task of drying and putting away.

"I _am_ old, Cabbage Patch." Punk sighs, and Jon glances at him. There's a pensively miserable look on his face. "I feel a lot less old now that I'm free, but I'm on my own too much..." He laughs, and Jon returns to washing up. "I... Colt told me to get a hobby, something that isn't Candy Crush because he's not sending me more lives." Punk laughs again, and Jon shakes his head. He'd forgotten all about Cabana accusing Punk of getting addicted to that game, and apparently he did, with a clandestine and on-going addiction that Cabana is no longer willing to feed. Jon hopes he doesn't get suckered into it, he's addictive by nature and nurture.

"Well, I did suggest orchid breeding." Jon grins over at him, and Punk nods absently, an odd look on his face.

"I need to _do_ something... You know?" He flaps the dishtowel in a weird motion, trying to emphasis his point, and Jon does get it. It has to be hard to go from being so busy to having all the time in the World on his hands.

"I get it, I do, but there's not much I can do for you, Punkin." Jon turns to look at Punk, at the miserable little expression on his face. "I don't know how to make you happy, and it freaks me out." He hopes Punk gets how much that simple little statement is the truth, and how much it took from Jon to tell him that. It might seem simple, but it's Jon laying himself out bare.

"You do make me happy." Punk steps closer, not protesting in the least when Jon holds him with sopping wet hands. "It's _me_ who makes me miserable." He laughs again, and Jon tightens his hold.

"I don't like you being miserable... Someone that makes me so happy shouldn't make themselves miserable." Jon kisses Punk's temple, and feels his arms tighten around him.

"I'm sorry... I'm bad company when I'm like this. You're only here for today. I shouldn't be laying my petty shit on you. The non-problems of old men are not for the likes of you young 'uns." He tries to step away from Jon, but he holds fast. Jon's not willing to let Punk go, not now, not ever really. He never leaves Punk willingly, and he _always_ leaves a part of himself behind.

"We're in a relationship, Punk. Your problems are my problems." And Jon would like to think that his problems are Punk's too, or at the very least, his problems are things that Punk will listen to, and give advice on.

"You really have been talking to Cabana!" Punk laughs, and Jon squeezes him tighter. "He said the same shit to me last night, told me I need to stop being such a prickly asshole, and to let you in." Punk grins suddenly, kissing Jon on the tip of his nose. "I'm glad you two are getting on. Colt _never_ likes my boyfriends." Jon stares at him in shock. He's always been fairly certain that Colt's working solely for Punk's benefit, that every time he's talked to Jon it's been with Punk's wellbeing in mind, he's never really considered if they're getting along or not.

"He _likes_ me?" Jon manages to croak out. It feels like an important piece of information, it feels like something that should have been hard won, but was given to him easily.

"Uh-huh, course he does." Punk laughs, and this time when he moves to go back to drying the dishes Jon doesn't stop him. "Told me I'd have to change hockey teams... That a good wife should support their man's team, but _please_ don't make me give up The Hawks. Come join the Dark Side." Jon stares at the wall and isn't sure if he should be cursing or praising the Chicago bred bastard cupid or not right then. _Wife_, changing hockey teams, it really does sound like Cabana approves of him, and he can't work out why, it's not like they've sat and had long conversations, or bonded, or anything really. It might just be that Colt really sees Jon and Punk as similar, so he likes the bits of Jon that remind him of his _Punkers_.

"So... I'm behind on season five... You still have it on the DV-R?" Jon asks, when the dishes all dried and put away, and another pot of coffee is brewing.

"You didn't watch it? Cabbage Patch! It's _so_ good... Come, to the couch! I wanna show you the new season of Horror Story too... I think you'll like it." Punk snags the pot, expecting Jon to take mugs with him, rambling about Jessica Lange, and her being his old lady crush.

"Hey, Punkin?" Jon says once the last episode is finished, staring up at Punk from where his head is resting in his lap. "Will you go see your Cabana for an hour?" Jon has an idea; something that requires time to set up, something that he thinks will shift the last of the maudlin from Punk. He leans up and kisses Punk, getting a soft little moan for his effort.

"Why?" Punk sounds mildly suspicious and Jon shakes his head, grinning up at him.

"Surprise." Jon sits up, and Punk stands with a dramatic sigh.

"Fine, fine... Don't break my house. I'll be back in like an hour."

Jon sends a quick text off, grins at the reply, then makes a phone call, and starts getting the rest of his plan together.

"What's this?" Punk sounds surprised, and Jon can't really say he blames him. It's probably not what he was expecting to come home to, the bath filled with bubbles, a box of fresh pizza, and champagne glasses filled with Pepsi sitting on a little table Jon dragged from a spare room.

"The closest thing to romance I could think of." Jon laughs, and pulls Punk close. "Strip and get in, according to your mom, this is your favourite." Jon nods to the pizza box, and Punk looks torn between heading straight for the pizza and getting in the tub. It's a brief moment of indecision, and he strips quickly, sinking into the bathtub. Jon hauls the little table closer to the tub, and starts getting undressed, turning on the music before getting in and handing Punk a slice of pizza.

"This is either the most romantic or the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever done for me." He laughs, and Jon shrugs, taking a slice for himself. He's going to have to work extra hard to get rid of all the carbs he's had today, but the lazily content expression on Punk's face is worth it.

"Go with romantically ridiculous?" Jon smiles at him, and there's an odd look on Punk's face. An expression that Jon doesn't recognise, but finds he _adores_. No one has ever looked at him like he was the centre of their universe before, but that's the look on Punk's face right then.

"I love you... I think I love you more than I realise, and when you do things like this, it... It kind of hits me." Punk sounds slightly in awe, and Jon fidgets, keeping focussed on eating, finishing his slice quickly, washing it down with pop. He's never been in love with someone the way he's in love with Punk. He's never wanted to _do_ these kinds of things for someone before, so how much he loves Punk hits him then too.

"I want to make you happy, that's all." Jon smiles awkwardly, and Punk grins at him, a _huge_ childishly happy grin.

"I _literally_ have the best boyfriend in the World. Best in the World, you can have that now, I gift you part of my former gimmick." Punk leans over and kisses Jon quickly, then devours his pizza, grabbing another slice. "This is good pizza... _Another _sign that my Bana likes you, usually he'd lie cause he's a bastard." Jon laughs, and takes a second slice. He's more than a little amused to hear someone else calling Colt a bastard, it makes him feel better about that being his mental name for Cabana.

"I'm not figuratively the best?" Jon raises an eyebrow, and sets his half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box, moving through the mountain of bubbles closer to Punk, letting him finish eating before kissing him. It's a curiously gentle kiss, but Jon thinks that it fits with the mood, he was aiming for romantic, and it feels like he achieved it, even if only for himself. He feels soft, gently domestic, and almost unnervingly romantic.

"I'd need to conduct a study to say for sure, but I can quite firmly state that you are literally the best boyfriend I've ever had." Punk sounds as soft as Jon feels, his hands lingering in Jon's hair.

"That's all I care about." He kisses Punk again, and pulls him over to the other side of the bath with him, holding him with his back against Jon's chest. "You know... If you want to, if you don't want to be alone... I don't mind driving if you're with me, and we can stay in different hotels to everyone else." Punk picks up a new slice of pizza and shakes his head.

"I love you, Jon, I _really_ do, but I'm not going anywhere near there. I'm just not... I'm sorry." He sounds painfully sorry, and Jon kisses his hair. He'd known that was what Punk would say, it's not a surprise, it doesn't even have the sting of pain Jon was expecting. He understands Punk is done with the WWE, and that the only contact he wants to have with it is Jon himself.

"It's okay. I'm just worried that when I'm gone, and your bastard's gone, you're gonna be _lonely_ again." Punk snorts in amusement when Jon refers to Cabana as his bastard, but he doesn't protest it, so Jon thinks its okay. He also doesn't protest Jon being concerned, just kisses Jon's bicep.

"Colt's been drafting people in to keep me company... Compton's coming up, Marty has been issued with strict orders, my sisters are on a three day rotation... Colt made a list. He likes lists far too much." Punk laughs, and Jon strokes his stomach absently, stealing a bite of his pizza. "You have your own half-eaten slice." Punk snaps, but there's no heat in his words.

"Yours is better." Jon laughs, and Punk sighs, taking up the half-eaten slice once he's finished his third. As soon as Punk's taken a bite from Jon's, he snags it back. "See, _now_ it's delicious." Jon murmurs in Punk's ear, feeling him shiver slightly. "Everything tastes better with a hint of Punk." Jon kisses behind Punk's ear, feeling him shiver again. "You done eating?" Jon asks once the slice is gone, and Punk nods.

"We having bath sex?" Punk asks him, a hint of amusement in his voice, and Jon trails a hand down from Punk's throat to his half-interested cock.

"You are, if nothing else." Jon murmurs, taking Punk's cock in his hand, stroking him fully hard slowly.

"I am?" Punk sounds confused, and Jon laughs in his ear, kissing his neck, stroking him slowly, enjoying the soft noises Punk makes as his arousal grows.

"You're gonna come for me, Punkin Pie." Jon murmurs, his hand speeding up a little. "I wanna hear you come, I miss hearing that when I'm on the road." Punk moans softly as Jon's other hand roams over his chest, tweaking a nipple. "Some nights, when I can't sleep and I've hung up after talking to you, I think about you... Think about that last time in Vegas after Mania..." Jon trails off, abandoning stroking Punk's cock in favour of rolling his balls, tugging lightly on his sack. "I think that was the night I first really realised just how much I was in love with you, and it scared the shit out of me." Jon nips at Punk's neck; the moan he makes is deep and needy. "The whole time, I swear I thought I was sick... When I was with you it was like I couldn't get enough air, like something was grabbing my heart and holding it still." Punk almost whines when Jon nudges a finger inside of him, fucking him shallowly for a few seconds before taking his cock back in hand. "I thought I was dying when I was with you, but when we were apart, it was worse... I was_ sure_ I was dying."

"Jon-"

"Shh, shh... Lemme say this whilst I have the balls to." Jon laughs, and Punk's head flops back to rest against Jon's shoulder, his hips arching into Jon's hand.

"If it wasn't for your mom, if it wasn't for you being brave-"

"I'm not brave, Jon." Punk really does whine then, his voice high and reedy.

"You _are_ brave, Phil." Jon kisses his temple. "So brave... Where was I?" It's hard to remember where he is in his little speech with Punk panting, _writhing_ in his arms, his hips moving in time with Jon's hand, the water in the bath sloshing over the edge in little waves. "You took that first step, if it wasn't for that, I'd still think I was dying." Jon finishes quietly, and Punk comes, a soft cry of Jon's name from his lips.

"Oh fuck... I have _got_ to be in a mood more often." He laughs, once he's recovered and is lying against Jon chest. "I get pizza, I get bubble baths." He scoops a handful of the bubbles up and blows them, from the corner of his eyes Jon can see a childish little grin on his face. He twists in Jon's arms to face him. "I get confirmation that you really are the best boyfriend in the World." Punk kisses him then, a slow, smouldering kiss that has Jon panting when it's broken. "You're an eloquent fucker, you know that?" Punk smiles at him, that odd look from earlier back on his face. "I actually think I'm speechless... Remind me to text Bana and tell him that." Punk nuzzles up at Jon's neck, making a pleased little sound. "I'm gonna need to mop the floor, aren't I? And you're gonna have to take that pizza away. I'll eat it all and get fat, then bitch and sulk again." Jon strokes a hand through Punk's hair, feeling mildly bemused. For a man who declared himself speechless, he's doing a lot of talking. "If I do get in a mood again, do I get more pizza in the bath? Can that be a thing? I'd like for it to be a thing." Jon tilts Punk's face up to him, and grins. "What? What? Why are you staring at me?"

"Punkin... You're rambling." Jon grins at the slightly contrite expression that flits over Punk's face.

"I'm not rambling, I'm just saying that I like eating pizza in the bath, and-"

"And then getting off so good it seems to break your brain?" Jon laughs at Punk, at the curious little expression that crosses his face.

"I am rambling... Jesus... You really did break my brain with a hand-job... Fuck... I take it back." Punk looks shocked, and kisses the underside of Jon's jaw.

"Take what back?" Jon asks him, he doesn't think it'll be anything serious, he's not sure this mildly shattered version of Punk is capable of serious.

"You want me to switch hockey teams I will, just don't leave me." He laughs, and Jon smiles slightly, apparently he was wrong, because that sounds very serious.

"I don't intend to." Jon leaves the statement as vague, but the meaning is clear as day to Jon. He's no intentions of doing either of those things to his Sphinx bastard. Punk snuggles against him again, he seems softly sated, and less _rambling_, which is at once a relief and a disappointment. Jon had rather enjoyed strange rambling Punk.

The rest of the day, they spend watching TV, and finishing off the pizza. The round of sweetly slow sex before bed has Jon falling asleep with a contented smile on his face, Punk on his chest, and the knowledge that it would be almost impossible for him to any happier than he is in that very moment.

The morning sees Jon considering waking Punk up, or slipping out from under him and leaving whilst he's getting much needed rest.

"I can hear you planning on how to get out of bed without waking me up." Punk tells him coolly, and Jon laughs, squeezing Punk tightly.

"How long you been awake." Jon smiles as Punk presses a kiss to his chest. It's impressive how good Punk is at pretending to be asleep, and Jon can't help but wonder how and why he learned to be quite so good at it.

"I've been thinking." Punk doesn't answer the question, which is an answer all of its own, he's been awake for far too long. "About what you said to me in the bath yesterday."

"Oh?" Jon's not sure what Punk might have been thinking about, but he hopes it's good, because surrounded with warm water and bubbles Jon poured his soul out, he's still feeling a little vulnerable about that.

"I don't think I have anything as eloquent, or as brain breaking, but..." Punk sighs, and moves so that he's braced over Jon, staring down at him. "The first time I felt you staring at me, there was something there, something that I've never felt before. The first time you fucked me and I threw you out, every time I threw you out after, it was because I was scared of what that _thing_ between us was." Punk sighs, and kisses Jon softly. "For so long Cabana had been telling me to give you a shot, and I'm glad I finally listened to him. I hated missing you when I was sure there was never going to be anything between us, hated how alone I felt." The smile that stretches his lips is tinted with sadness, but his eyes are soft and warm. "I miss you when you're gone, I miss you so much, but I know you'll come home, so it's bearable. When I walked, I wasn't sure I could stand not giving you the chance Bana told me to. You took that first step, Jon." Punk whispers softly, smiling up at him. "You came to me, and I'm forever grateful that you did." Jon glances away, he's not sure his brain is broken, but the weight of Punk's earnest gaze is a little much for him to take.

"I'm only brave for you." Jon mutters, half-hoping Punk doesn't hear him. The soft kiss to his lips tells him that Punk did, and understands that sometimes bravery is best left unspoken and un-praised.

"C'mon, I'll feed you before you have to leave."

"Morning." Cabana's voice is a surprise, but only a little one, and Jon steps aside, letting him. "You get him sorted?" He asks, toeing off his shoes. Jon shrugs vaguely, he's not sure Punk is _sorted_ exactly, he's happier though. He'd seemed plenty happy when Jon had left him in the kitchen, elbow deep in the washing up, and his hair a mess from Jon's hands being in it when he kissed him goodbye. As much as he loves kissing Punk, he hates goodbye kisses, he hates that he has to have them, but he does, because like Punk said, Jon has a pay per view to main event.

"Good as I could... The real test'll be when he's on his own, I guess." Jon finishes tying his shoes, and Cabana nods, smacking Jon's shoulder.

"True, good luck in the cell." He mutters, calling for Punk as he clumps upstairs. Jon watches him go, rubbing his shoulder absently. He thinks that assault was Cabana tagging himself in, he thinks that it was a more concrete sign that he's been accepted by Punk's bastard best friend, he thinks it might mean that he and the Chicago bred bastard cupid _might_ need to think up a tag team name, because they do both seem to be on the same side when it comes to keeping Punk happy.

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**Johncenapunkjericholic, littleone1389, and Brokenspell77.**_  
><em>

_Home, talking, bath sex (and faded out bed sex - sorry!) and gone again... I'd say Dean had a successful trip home._

__**Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.**__


	6. Blossoming

____Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity. A sequel of sorts to _**Growing Flowers**_____

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><p><em>Fuck man... You alright? That bump on the table looked nasty... And what's the angle with Wyatt? How far is that going? Is this going to be another Punk v Jericho deal? I can see them going down that route... Seriously, if you're not up for it, don't let them push you that way. I know Punk was up for it, so it was okay, but I don't know about you man. Remember to call Punkers, and good call on his present. I've been getting up dates. I knew you'd do a good job, Gerbil Cheeks! - Punkin 3.14's Mom<em>

"The fuck..." The text has Jon staring at his cell phone in shock. Of all the people to be sending him worried text messages, Colt Cabana was very much the last name on the list, but he did. A _long_ rambling text message from a man on the other side of the World, a man who is the _best_ friend of his lover, asking about Jon's wellbeing, with barely a mention of Punk.

_I'm fine, Cabana... It's all good. - sent_

_You sure? Landing on tables is not good for you back, man. - Punkin 3.14's Mom_

_I'm sure, well a little sore, but I'll be home Wednesday, so then I'll be fine. ;) - sent_

_Ha! I'll be back November... You'll be in the UK by then. I heard about the bathtub. Can you remind Punkers I don't need to know about your romantic exploits? Don't let them force you into stories you'll hate, alright? It was the WORST when they'd do it to him, and I don't need him bitching at me about how Creative are screwing over his man. - Punkin 3.14's Mom_

_He calls me his man? - sent_

_Jesus... You two ARE bad at this! I gotta go, remember to call him! - Punkin 3.14's Mom_

_Did you? - sent_

_I spent hours talking to him... LITERALLY hours. I'm going now, bye! - Punkin 3.14's Mom_

Jon's not entirely sure what to make of this odd little conversation. He's not sure if it was Cabana being worried about Jon because of Jon, or because of the possible impact an unhappy Jon would have on Punk. Either way, it was weird but kind of _nice_, and he's not going to dwell on it. He's going to finish getting changed, go to the hotel and call Punk to wish him a happy birthday.

"You know, I'm kind of pissed our feud is over." Colby wanders once Jon is changed, a frown on his face. "I was enjoying it, and it doesn't _feel_ like an ending. It's like we're just..."

"Having a little timeout to deal with other stuff? Want me to ask the woman about it?" Jon has the feeling that's what his Shield brother is really wanting. Punk's opinion is valuable to Colby, it always has been, and Jon thinks it always will be.

"You think she'll have an answer?" Colby sounds hopefully, a smile bleeding over his lips.

"Why would your woman have an opinion on the way your feud ended?" It's not often Cena hangs about in the locker room, but when he does, it's generally an annoyance to Jon. He can't shake the easy assumption he made that Punk and Cabana are sleeping together. Jon _knows_ they're not, but it niggles at him sometimes.

"She's a mark." Colby shrugs easily, Cena looks disbelieving, his eyes narrowing.

"You're dating a ringrat, Ambrose?" He folds his arms across his chest, the very air around him cynical. There's something infuriating about Cena expressing such interest in Jon's personal affairs, something that sets his teeth on edge.

"Cena, I'm flattered that you're so interested, but _seriously_, you're not my type." Jon laughs at the flustered look that creeps over Cena's face, the blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Well, there's a pity." He laughs, and goes to his spot in the locker room. Colby stares at his back, and Jon shakes his head, desperately hoping that Cena was joking. The thought of the deformed monkey bearing down on anyone is enough to make Jon want to wish mental bleach was real. He's certain that poor Bella girl has to put a bag over his head to be able to stomach the thought of sharing a bed with that Neanderthal.

"Was he hitting on you?" Colby follows Jon out of the locker room, down to the rental they'd shared to get to the arena.

"I fucking hope not... Jesus, maybe that's why he wanted to know about my woman... Maybe he wanted to see if I'd be up for it with him. Oh god... I think I'm gonna puke." Jon mutters opening the car.

"He's gonna _puke_!" Colby's Vince impression is pretty impressive to say the least, but then again everyone can do a good Vince. "So, you get your woman something nice for his birthday?" Colby asks once they've started driving to the hotel.

"It's all very understated, to be honest, but his mom approves." Jon smiles slightly, Cabana's confusing texts still in the back of his mind. It's one of those odd little signs that Cabana approves of him, Jon supposes.

"Spill! I wanna know! I _doubt_ it's going to have been better than the pizza bath, but that was damn _romantic_... Who knew you had that in you?" Colby laughs, he'd been laughing over that little story since he'd dragged it out of Jon a few days ago. If he's honest though, he is kind of proud of that story, so he doesn't much mind being reminded of it, and really, Punk had looked incredible all wet and surrounded with bubbles, wearing nothing but a smile and his cum.

"I sent him to a game... Bought him an ice cream." Jon grins, remembering placing the call to the United Center concession stand, ordering a large cone of Punk's favourite ice cream and paying for it by credit card over the phone. It had been a weird call, but the people seemed happy enough to do it for Punk, what with him being such a big fan and all.

"You sent him to a _hockey_ game and bought him ice cream? Okay... Jon Good, last of the great romantics." Jon laughs at Colby's unimpressed tone, and shrugs.

"He likes hockey, he likes ice cream, and I fucking romanced the shit out him when I was home last." Jon mutters and Colby laughs at him, punching his shoulder lightly.

"Romancing the shit? That's what you kids are calling it these days, huh?" Jon groans at him, and Colby chuckles again, a softer laugh this time. "You know, you call his place home all the time now." Jon glances at him, and there's a little smile on Colby's lips. "It's cute... Like toothache inducing cute.

"Shut up!" Jon parks the car, trying to ignore the blush on his cheeks, and Colby's laughs. "You're the worst not brother ever." Colby laughs and pats Jon on the back, a grin on his face.

"I'm happy for you! I really am... Ask him what he thinks, and say happy birthday for me." Colby gets out of the car, making his way to the elevator, holding the door for Jon.

"Happy Birthday, Punkin." Jon doesn't bother with hello when he calls Punk, going straight to the important things. "You have a good time?"

"_Of course I did_!" He crows, sounding triumphant, so Jon assumes the Hawks won, it certainly sounds like they did based on how Punk sounds.

"So how badly did you beat the enemy?" Jon laughs, listening to the sound of Punk rustling around the house. Jon can't place the soft noises coming over the phone, but it sounds like Punk is up to something.

"_Two-one to my boys... It was a good game. I got free ice cream too._" He laughs, and Jon smirks slightly. He'd asked the people at the stand to just keep giving Punk as much ice cream as he wanted and to tell him it was for his birthday. "_It was very nice of them, and you didn't have to try and keep it a secret, you idiot._" Punk's voice is so soft, so fond, and Jon can feel the hairs on his arms stand on end. "_I've not seen your match yet, but Colt was texting me, asking about your back? What the hell were you doing to get him so worried?_" Punk keeps making strange noises that sound a lot like expletives, and suddenly Jon's phone comes up with a face time request.

"Hello Punkin, you have frosting in your beard." Jon can't help but laugh at Punk, there's a childishly pleased smile on his face, and the frosting is clinging to his moustache, that he wipes away with the back of his hand.

"_Look! I got cake from Cabana._" He turns his phone around; showing Jon what was once probably a very impressive cake that's been somewhat demolished.

"You eat all that yourself?" The sight of food has Jon's stomach rumbling, and he starts rooting through his bag, finding a couple of protein bars.

"_No... No, I had help. My sisters, Nate, some other people, they came over with presents and Nate brought Cabana's cake, with a staunch warning to save you a piece. They're wanting to meet you at some stage, by the way. They're impressed that you've got Colt on side._" Jon smiles awkwardly, and isn't too sure what to say to that. If he's honest, he's impressed he has Colt on his side too. Cabana is a protective bastard when it comes to his Punkers, and to have earned his good graces so _easily_ is surprising.

"Sure, maybe when I'm home next, or when I'm back from Europe?" Punk frowns at Jon words, as though just now remembering that Jon is going to be gone for a good long while.

"_Uff... Stupid Europe..._" He sighs, and takes up another slice of cake, leaving the kitchen for the living room. "_How long are they stealing you for?_"

"Too long, but I'll get a few days at home afterwards, plenty of time to meet the rest of your family." Jon smiles with what he hopes is reassurance, and Punk nods, an odd little smile on his face.

"_For sure... So blah, blah, blah. Why is Colt worried about your back?_" Jon can see him fiddling with the remote, turning on the TV.

"Took a bump through the announce table." Jon mutters, guessing Punk is fast-forwarding his DV-R to Jon's match with Colby.

"_It must have been from pretty high to have Colt going all mother-he... Jesus fuck, Jon! How is your back? You idiot!_" He's clearly gotten to the part of the before the match antics where he and Colby had fallen.

"It's a little sore, but nothing to worry about, I promise." Jon laughs awkwardly, but the more the Saints mention it, the more his back twinges at the abuse he put it through.

"_You iced it yet?_" Punk asks, a little frown on his face as he watches the match, wincing every so often. "_I like Seth, but seriously, if I see him I might punch him for this._" Punk laughs, and Jon grins at him.

"I'm gonna take a bath once I ha-"

"_Take one now! Put the phone on speaker or something._" Punk mutters, and Jon sighs, going and running the tub. A strange twinge of loneliness coming over him as he pictures this cheap hotel bath being bigger, and filled with his Sphinx bastard instead of warm water.

"You hear that, one bath being run." Jon mutters, listening to Punk sucking the air through his teeth, as though wincing in sympathy at the blows Colby landed on Jon.

"_How and where are they going with this?_" He asks once Bray interferes. Jon shakes his head, undressing and slipping into the water.

"Pretty far, and _yes_ before you ask, I agreed to it." Jon moans softly as the water laps at his tired body. It would be so much better to have Punk in his arms, but the sound of him rambling about how Jon had better not let them go too far is _almost_ as good. "I'll be fine... I already had to reassure your mom about this."

"_Really? Poor Bana... He frets... I should call him later._" Punk sounds odd, and Jon glances at the phone.

"He frets over me?" It's not something Jon was expecting, but he's beginning to conclude that Cabana _really_ does like Jon, and as such he's going to fuss and worry over him.

"_Cabbage Patch, Bana is a mother-hen, and he frets over everyone he cares about. If he could I'm sure he'd be there fretting over your back and sending me to kiss your boo-boos better. And before you ask a dumb question, yes, he likes you, so yes he cares about you. You make me happy, that's apparently more than enough to get into his good books._" Punk laughs, and Jon shakes his head, sinking beneath the warm water, wetting his hair.

"If I make you unhappy he'll chop my balls off though, right?" Jon asks, scraping his wet hair back from his face.

"_Well, he has sent an ex of mine to A and E..._" Punk doesn't sound like he's joking. It's somehow reassuring that genial Cabana is really willing and _capable_ of defending his Punkers quite so well. Reassuring, but also kind of intimidating, Jon's not sure he wants to have to deal with a pissed off and protective Chicago bred bastard best friend.

"Hmm... Good to know." Jon mutters, the warm water making him remember holding Punk in his bathtub as he trembled with an orgasm that broke his brain. He's beginning to think he's going to have to add bathtubs to the long list of things that remind him of Punk, and therefore turn him on inappropriately.

"_How's your bath?_" Punk asks lazily, he sounds slightly sleepy, all gently content, and like his lap would be perfect for Jon to rest his head in. When Punk's in this mood, he'll sit and pet Jon's hair quite happily for hours.

"Empty... I keep thinking about you... I'm_ always_ thinking about you, but baths are ruined for me. All I can think of is you coming, and how prettily you sing when you do." Jon chuckles and Punk snorts in amusement.

"_Birthday phone sex?_" He laughs, and Jon nods, before realising that was a pointless thing to do.

"Sounds good to me... Tell me what you want, Punkernickle." Jon takes his cock in hand, slowly teasing it, the memories of Punk, pizza and bubbles bringing him to arousal quickly.

"_I want you... Want your hand round by dick_." Punk moans softly, and Jon closes his eyes, picturing Punk, seeing him stroking his cock slowly. "_I don't have any lube..._" He mutters, and Jon frowns considering.

"Suck your fingers, pretend they're my cock." The hand on Jon's cock tightens around it, trying to emulate the tightness of Punk's throat. It's a _poor_ substitute, but it'll have to do for now. "Lemme hear you, Punkin, make some noise for me." There's a muffled laugh from Punk, and the sound of his fingers leaving his mouth with a pop.

"_Sheesh... Not demanding are you? One finger... It's sweet, but I'm sure you could be a little rougher with me again._" Punk makes a quiet noise, the sound he always makes when Jon first penetrates him. "_There's a part of me that misses you moving quickly, misses you being worried I'll change my mind and kick you out. You're too comfortable._" Punk moans quietly.

"It's your own fault, Punkin. You're the one who made me all _domestic_." Jon chuckles, aching to see Punk fingering himself, the little noises he keeps making are horribly distracting, making it difficult to focus on anything but the images in Jon's mind.

"_Domestic? Hmm... I tamed you? Well, I'll have to do something to bring back the savage in you._" Punk groans, but it's muffled, it sounds like he's sucking at his fingers again, and the idea makes Jon's cock twitch. The idea of Punk tasting himself from his own fingers is making Jon strangely jealous.

"We playing Poffo sex pun chicken again, cause I still got Larry to go." Jon laughs, and Punk groans again, but this time it's not in pleasure.

"_No, chicken before you even start. It was a poor choice of words on my part. Hnn, oww... Two seconds, I need lube for this._" Punk mutters, and Jon thinks of how tight Punk is, how his body clings to his cock as he moves inside of him, how there's nothing in the World that can compare to the feeling of Punk wrapped around his cock. "_I'm back... Two fingers?_"

"Two fingers." Jon confirms, listening to Punk opening the lube, and moaning as he breaches himself with two of his fingers. "How's it feel?"

"_Good... But not great, not like when you do it. You've the best fingers in the World._" Punk pants quietly, clearly nudging his prostate. "_Fuck, you really have just been given that gimmick now... If they ever pay me my royalties, I'll have to give you some._"

"I'll take physical favours in place of money. Three, Punkin." Jon laughs, and Punk moans. Jon assumes he just slide a third finger inside of himself.

"_Deal... You know in a fit of being a bastard, Cabana sent me a link to this place that makes dildos of real cocks... I want one of yours for Christmas._" Punk moans, and whilst Jon assumes he's joking about that, the idea is kind of _hot_.

"Do they do fleshlight sleeves too? There's nothing like your ass, ba-"

"_I'm not_ _filling my ass with latex, and don't call me baby._" Punk mutters, moaning again, his volume increasing. "_Not joking about the dildo though... There's nothing that feels as good as you in me, nothing, no one has just fit me before._" Jon shivers, speeding up his hand, the idea of Punk trying to find satisfaction with other fake cocks comes to him, of Punk trying but failing to get off on anything that isn't Jon's dick.

"You been buying toys, Punkin?" Punk moans a soft uh-huh, and Jon smirks, the images in his mind growing more explicit. "They don't fill you up right though, do they?"

"_No... Nothing's as good as your cock_." Punk pants, his breathing getting faster and heavier. "_Fuck, nothing._"

"You close? You sound close to coming... You start getting louder when you're gonna come, Punkin." Punk moans at Jon's words, and Jon speeds up his strokes, wanting to time his own rapidly encroaching orgasm with Punk's. "That's it, that little noise right there, that's the hottest fucking thing in the World. When I hear that I know you're gonna come soon, and baby, you're beautiful when you do." The sound of Punk coming brings Jon over the edge, his own orgasm tearing through him, leaving him panting, and listening to the sound of Punk getting himself together.

"_You gonna do that for me when you're in Europe, Cabbage Patch_?" Punk asks, his voice softly sated, and Jon grins at the phone, wishing they'd not switched from face time when he'd gotten in the tub. Hearing Punk playing with himself, hearing Punk panting as he brought himself closer and closer was good, but the visual would be _so_ much better.

"I'm gonna get a stand, Punkin Pie, I wanna see you next time." Jon smiles at the quiet laugh Punk gives.

"_Sure... Next time, I'll give you a show._" He chuckles, and Jon can feel his cock give a twitch, the idea of Punk performing is more than a little interesting. "_Get some sleep, okay? Call me after Raw._"

"I will do... I love you, Punkin, I'm glad you had a nice birthday." Jon smiles, dragging himself out of the now cool bath, planning on showering to get clean. He feels much better for his soak if nothing else though.

"_It could have been better, but I guess I'll have to wait till I'm thirty-nine for that._" Punk laughs, and Jon smiles awkwardly. Next year Punk's birthday'll be a Monday, and then a Tuesday, unless there's a leap year in there somewhere.

"I'll try and have the Hawks win for you next year too." Jon laughs, the sound of Punk joining in with him is the one he wants to remember before he falls asleep tonight, that and the sound of his name falling from Punk's lips as he came.

"_Good!_" Punk chuckles, and Jon switches back to face time. "_Hello... You look good wet, have I mentioned that before?_" Punk smiles, and the image that comes to Jon is of a sprawled and contented Punk on the couch, his shirt a rumpled mess, his hair just as bad, and his come being licked from his fingers by that wicked little tongue of his.

"You look good, and I need to go before I decide to long distance ravage you again." The laugh Punk gives makes Jon want to stay on the line, but he needs to get to sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day; he needs to be rested for it.

"_Go shower, and sleep before I'm talked into being ravaged then._" Punk smiles softly, that look in his eyes from their pizza bath again. "_Jon... Thank you, I missed you, but I had a good day._" Jon shakes his head, smiling at Punk.

"Punkin, you don't need to thank me. I told you, all I want is for you to be happy, so I'm..." Jon pauses, glad isn't a strong enough word for how he feels in the face of Punk's smile, he's not sure there's a strong enough word in the English language, in _any_ language for how he feels when Punk looks at him like that. "I wanna kiss you." Jon mutters, he thinks that's about the only way to convey his feelings properly, something physical, something emotional, something without words, something that's all feelings.

"_I want you to kiss me too, but you can't so._" Punk blows Jon an exaggerated kiss, and Jon pretends to swoon, grinning at him. "_Go on, get a move on. Call me tomorrow. G'night, love you._"

"Yeah, yeah... I love you too, Punkin."

* * *

><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**Rebellecherry, littleone1389, and Brokenspell77.**

_More baths... but slightly less cuteness, I think maybe... I dunno..._

__**Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.**__


	7. Flower

___Warnings: Slash (Ambrose/Punk), Smut, Profanity. A sequel of sorts to _**Growing Flowers**____

* * *

><p>"Hey Punkin? You-?" Jon's calling up the stairs to Punk is cut short by an armful of an incredibly clingy Punk, and an fantastically enthusiastic kiss. "Hello." He smirks when Punk breaks the kiss.<p>

"Hi, c'mon, c'mon... I have _news_." He grins at Jon, a huge overly excited smile on his face. It's hard not to feel intrigued at the look on Punk's face, at the way he's almost trembling like a puppy with excitement.

"_News_? That sounds _interesting_... Did you book me an appointment with the dildo company? Did you finally agree to fill your pretty little ass with latex for me?" Jon laughs, and Punk turns to him with an unimpressed look on his face.

"I'm not making a fleshlight of my ass, Gerbil Cheeks, let it go." He snaps, and guides Jon to sit on the couch.

"Elsa, stop calling me Gerbil Cheeks... I already get it from your mom." Jon makes an attempt to grab Punk, and pull him down to the couch, but he hops out of Jon reach, that huge smile on his face.

"Wait... Just wait there, okay?" He leaves the room with _almost_ a skip in his step. Jon shakes his head, and tries to puzzle out what the hell has him so excited, he can't work it out, but whatever it is, it's a good thing. He's _never_ seen his Sphinx bastard like this, and it kind of incredible, whatever is making him this happy better be something that happens regularly. "Catch." Punk tosses Jon a plain white envelope, and Jon raises an eyebrow at the grin on Punk's face. "Open it! Read it!" He laughs and perches on the edge of the coffee table. Jon takes the letter out of the envelope, and skims over, then pulls Punk to him, kissing him fiercely.

"So you're an author now?" He mutters between kisses, Punk's a wriggling bundle of enthusiasm in Jon's arms and he can't say he minds in the least.

"Uh-huh. I've been working on it for a while, and _that_ is the green light on the project." He laughs, settling over Jon. "They're gonna be making a public announcement later, but I wanted you to know as soon as I did." He grins, and Jon smiles at him, framing his face with his hands.

"I'm proud." Jon kisses the tip of Punk's nose, smirking at the _tiny_ blush that spreads over his cheeks. "You told your mom yet?" Jon laughs at the look of mild panic that flits over Punk's face. "Ha, I get information before Cabana? I'm flattered." Jon laughs, and Punk sticks his tongue out at him, then kisses Jon again.

"I've been busy..." Jon looks at Punk, making him laugh nervously. "Okay, okay, I've been buzzing around the house like a mosquito cause I wanted to have celebration sex." He laughs, and Jon shakes his head. "No? No _well done Punkin I'm so proud of you_ sex?" Punk's impression of Jon is almost as horrible as his Cabana impression. It really seems Punk only has talent for pretending to be Homicide.

"No sex yet, I'm hungry. Feed me." Jon mutters, nipping at Punk's neck, his hands cupping his ass, slipping under the waistband of the shorts Punk's wearing to squeeze his bare skin. "Your distaste for underwear is a great and terrible thing... You need to start wearing it in public."

"I'd rather wear pants... Its winter now, if I'm out in my underoos, I'll be useless to you." Punk laughs and squirms out of Jon's arms, standing.

"Pants _and_ underwear, Punkin... There are some fucked up people out there, and _you_ are far too irresistible for my liking. The only fucked up person who gets to be unable to resist you is me." Jon gets off the couch, and wraps his arms around Punk once more, his chest plastered against Punk's back, his lips pressing kisses to his neck.

"I thought you were hungry." Punk moans softly, as Jon's hand slips down to rub his cock through his shorts.

"Yeah... Yeah... _Hungry_." Jon murmurs in his ear, laughing at the slight shiver that runs through Punk. "You expecting guests?" Jon asks, when there's a knock at the door, and Punk shakes his head.

"No one that would bother knocking." He tries to step away from Jon, but Jon clings to him.

"Ignore it." He keeps pressing kisses to Punk's neck, his hands growing bolder, but the knocking gets louder.

"Jon... It might be important." He mutters, and Jon sighs, letting Punk go.

"I'll go check." Jon clumps down the stairs, Punk following along behind him, rambling about what he might make to eat.

"Ha! I _knew_ it!" The voice on the other side of the door is utterly unexpected and Jon slams it shut in the other person's face. "C'mon! You're not going to leave me out in the cold." Punk pushes Jon out of the way, and opens the door again, scowling at the visitor. "Hello, it's nice to see you're not dead. I was told you were."

"He is." Jon snarls over Punk's shoulder, and Punk sighs, rubbing his temples.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He sounds utterly unimpressed, and so far from how he had sounded five minutes ago that Jon wants to gut the grinning idiot on the doorstep for making Punk unhappy.

"I'm checking up on an old friend, so... Do I get to come in?" Punk steps aside, and Cena walks into the house, a grin on his face, as he pulls Punk into a hug. "I've missed you, man. You quit WWE, not your friends." He chides, and Jon glares at him. The very last thing he wants is Cena in his home, the very last thing he wants is Cena touching what is very much Jon's.

"So... I imagine you'll want feeding, Boy Scout." Punk starts walking up the stairs, and Jon indicates that Cena should follow, Jon bringing up the rear so he can glare at Cena's back.

"If you're offering... So what have you been doing? I asked Cabana... But all I got was he's dead, leave him the fuck alone..." Cena perches on a stool in the kitchen, and Jon sits on a different one, further away, one where he can watch Cena and Punk at the same time. He's going to have to be nicer to the Chicago bred bastard best friend, it seems like he'd been fending off Cena's prying single-handed until now.

"That's why you're here then? Cause Colt's in Japan." Punk's back is turned, busy at the stove, and Jon's trying to work out where Cena's staring. If it's at Punk's ass, Jon thinks he'll be more than justified in gutting him.

"Well... Uh... He's scary. I mean people that seem that nice should not be able to be quite so intimidating. It's-"

"Colt's a good friend." Jon mutters. Cabana is more than a good friend; he's apparently a force field that keeps Cena and other idiots away from Jon's Punkin Pie. He's really going to have start being nicer to the bastard.

"He's the _best_." Punk laughs, smiling over at Jon. Cena chuckles, and Jon turns to him with a scowl.

"You're the least subtle person in the World when it comes to Punk, Ambrose... It's kind of hilarious. I've suspected your _woman_ might be a slightly less _woo_ and more _man_ for a while." Cena laughs again, and Jon silently vows that if that deformed monkey laughs at him again, he's going to gut him with a spoon.

"Food." Punk sets a plate down in front of Cena, and another down in front of Jon, pressing a soft kiss to Jon's hair. "_I'll get rid of him quickly... I want my celebration sex_." Punk mutters, and Jon catches his wrist, kissing the back of his hand.

"Thank you." Jon smiles at Punk, and hears Cena awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Uh... So you two really are..." He trails off, pushing his food around his plate. Punk moves to sit on the stool opposite Cena, a smile on his face.

"_Still_?" Punk laughs, and Cena rubs the back of his neck, looking nervous. "Boy Scout, we've been through this a million times... And don't start sniffing around my man, or I'll sic my Bastard on you... _Again_." Punk laughs, and Cena shakes his head, looking contrite.

"Yeah, yeah... I remember." He laughs, and Jon meets Punk's eye, planning on holding him to the _later_ he mouths at Jon. "So you've been doing okay? You're not lonely... You don't miss us?"

"I'm good." Punk starts fidgeting on the stool, and Cena looks at him, stares at him in silence for a long few seconds. "I am! I've been keeping busy, got some projects coming up."

"You ever going to explain why?" Cena finishes the plate of food, and tries to take Punk's hand. Punk stands quickly, moving out of Cena's reach, and Jon tenses, considering if a fork would be as effective at making his point as a spoon.

"I quit, Cena. It's that simple." Punk smiles, and takes Cena's empty plate to the sink. "You're not going to get anything else outta me." He says finally, and Cena nods vaguely.

"More than I was expecting to be honest... So can I expect a furious Cabana, or is this one in charge of being pissed at the people harassing you now?" He tilts his head in Jon's direction and Punk laughs, smiling at Jon.

"I _think_ he's aware that he needs to keep in the golden goose's good books... Cabana on the other hand..." Punk smirks, and Cena nods miserably. Jon _almost_ feels a sting of sympathy for him, having an angry Cabana hanging over you isn't a pleasant prospect.

"I'm happy you're happy Punk. I won't get involved with your man's business more than Creative make me... You've got my word, I _know_ it ain't worth much of anything to you, but I promise." Punk nods at Cena, and ushers him out of the kitchen.

"Wash up for me, will you?" Punk pauses at the door, and Jon nods. He has the feeling that Punk and Cena are going to have conversation, one that isn't for him to hear, and it makes Jon uncomfortable to think about what Cena could be cooing in his Sphinx bastard's ear. This whole visit has Jon's teeth on edge, and he's not happy in the least about it. He's not sure what the fuck the deal with Cena is, and he wants to know. He sends off a quick message to Cabana, wanting the story behind the story that Punk's undoubtedly going to tell, once he's back.

_They're friends, after a fashion. - Punkin 3.14's Mom_

_After a fashion? - sent_

_Hmm... Cena's a dick and I don't like him. He tried to make some moves on Punkers, he told him he wasn't interested, Cena was persistent, and I made him back off. Nothing bad, just looking out for the idiot... Don't worry about it, or actually do you want me to tell him to fuck off? I can, I'm good at that! For some reason people get freaked out when I'm pissed at them. - Punkin 3.14's Mom_

_Uh... Cabana, you're the most fucking happiest guy in the World, when you're pissed, it's kind of intimidating, you realise this? Its fine, he left, I just wanted to know what the deal was. - sent_

"Who you texting oh so diligently?" Punk's back and wrapped around Jon before he sends the message, and he turns to Punk, kissing him lightly. "Punkin three point one four's mom? This is how you have Cabana stored in your phone? I'm dating a weirdo... Complete weirdo." Punk laughs and moves away from Jon, starting to wash the dishes.

"What? He is your mom." Jon laughs, and Punk shrugs.

"Wait... Does that mean you have me stored as Punkin three point one four? Huh, who knew you knew what mathematical pie was." Punk laughs, finishing washing the scant few plates quickly.

"Well to two digits at least." Jon catches Punk by the waist and pulls him back, flush with Jon's chest. "So do I get the story of what the fuck Cena wanted, or do I gotta see what your mom's text said?" Jon nips behind Punk's ear, feeling him shiver in his arms.

"Cena was reminding me that I quit wrestling, not my friends, and I was trying to throw him out of my house without resorting to violence." Punk moans as Jon's hand trails down his stomach, dipping under his shorts to start playing with his cock.

"Cabana said he's tried it on with you." Jon laps at the tattoo behind Punk's ear, slowly teasing him to erection.

"He did... Years ago... Nothing much over the top, just _never give up_ is more than a gimmick. We worked through it and became friends." Punk's hips are rocking into Jon's ministrations; clearly, he's still more than interested in getting his celebration sex.

"Your mom told me he warned him to back off." Jon abandons Punk's cock in favour of toying with his balls, tugging on them a little.

"Hmm... No doubt, sounds like the sort of thing Bana would do... Over-protective bastard..." Punk moans, and Jon grins against Punk's neck.

"I approve of his over-protective ways. He kept you nice and safe for me. Now... Celebration sex in the kitchen... Or the couch, or the bed, or?" Jon presses a soft kiss to Punk's hair and steps away from him, getting a little whine of a noise for the loss of contact from Punk.

"All of the above?" Punk turns to him with a grin, and pulls his shorts down around his thighs, leaning over the sink. "Fuck me." He grins over his shoulder, and Jon shakes his head.

"No lu-"

"Pocket." Punk interrupts Jon before he can finish his protest, and Jon slides a hand into Punk's shorts' pocket, finding a little bottle in there. "Came prepared, so _fuck _me." Jon laughs and pours some lube into his hand, coating a finger, and pressing it against Punk's hole. "Was bored waiting for you." He laughs, and Jon kisses the back of his head, before he pulls his cock out, and smirks, clearly this is something hard and fast to start. They've long enough to have a several part celebration, and clearly Punk wants to make an early start.

"So I should fuck you then?" Jon laughs, and slicks up his cock, fucking into Punk hard and fast, getting a low, deep grunt for his actions. It is nothing more than an animalistic fuck in the kitchen, Jon's thrusts deep and powerful, Punk rocking back into them, driving Jon's cock into him harder and faster. It's a fuck so unlike any they've had in so long, and Jon realises he's missed these quick, hard up against something, _anything_ fucks. They've nothing on slow and tender, but they still feel damn good. Punk sings in a different tone when he's fucked like this, in place of gasping moans, he grunts and gasps, low and deep.

"Fuck, harder." Punk's voice is rough, and Jon smirks, forcing Punk more firmly against the sink. "Oww... Harder." Jon almost slows down at the _oww_, but the way Punk tightened around him, the way he moved to brace himself better, changes the angle of Jon's thrusts, and the momentary pain Punk was in is forgotten.

"Gonna come... Too soon, but you're too good, baby." Jon murmurs, and Punk snarls.

"Don't call me _baby_." He squirms beneath Jon, forcing him to pull out, and pushes him back, so that Jon's forced to lie on the table. "How many times do I have to tell you?" Punk kicks off his shorts and hops up to straddle Jon's hips. There's a smirk on his lips, and a hint of soft, sweet _Phil_ behind the CM Punk persona he's wearing. "Just lie there, and be _quiet_." Punk slides down Jon's cock, riding him hard and fast, his head thrown back, his hands on Jon's chest. "Fuck, _so good_..." He moans, taking his cock in his hand, and Jon bats it out of the way.

"Lemme make it up to you, Punkin." Jon starts stroking him, his hand tight, and moving quickly over Punk's dick. "Lemme make you come." Punk nods, vaguely, but his attention is clearly divided, torn between enjoying Jon's dick in his ass, and Jon's hand on his cock. When he comes, it's sudden, and all encompassing, his body trembling. Jon holds his hips, holds him still as he fucks up into Punk's quivering body, when Jon comes it's as fully mind blowing as Punk's orgasm seems to have been. "Table is damn uncomfortable." Jon mutters, watching Punk stare down at him, his chest heaving.

"Yeah... Yeah... Couch?" He grins, and lifts himself off Jon, standing on slightly wobbly legs, a trickle of Jon's cum seeping from his hole.

"Wait." Jon grabs his hips, and stands. "Bend over." Punk looks at him confused, but does as Jon asks, bends over the table, his elbows resting on it. "I've been wanting to taste this for _so_ long." Jon kneels behind him, and parts Punk's ass-cheeks, staring at his glistening, and slightly stretched hole.

"Jon?" Punk sounds utterly bewildered, and when Jon laps the trickle of cum that's leaking from him up, the noise he makes is incredible. "Oh _fuck_." Jon laps at his hole, dabbing at the delicate little ring of muscle, trying to get as much of his cum out of Punk as he can. The taste is like nothing else, musky, salty, and _them_. Every time that Punk has sucked Jon's cock after it's fucked him, every time he's sucked his own fingers after they've been inside of him, he's tasted this, and Jon is bitterly jealous. They taste incredible, _Punk_ tastes incredible. "Oh, fuckfuckfuckfuck... Jon... Please... _Please_... It's too much, stop, stop." Punk moans, and Jon unwillingly withdraws from his ass, unwillingly stands, and is very willingly drawn into a frantic kiss from Punk.

"You taste good." Jon smirks once Punk breaks the kiss, his eyes still hazy. "You getting hard again, Punkin?" Punk nods, and Jon laughs. "Where was next on the list? Couch? Let's go." Jon picks him up in a fireman's carry, and deposits Punk on the couch.

"Are you?" Punk asks vaguely, he looks halfway to being wrecked, and Jon shakes his head. He's not going to fuck Punk right now, what he's going to do is completely ruin his Sphinx bastard, and then take him to bed to make love to him gently.

"I'm gonna blow you." Jon wraps his lips around Punk's cock, giving him no more warning than that. He slides a couple of fingers inside Punk, and starts ruthlessly massaging his prostate, chasing Punk's orgasm as quickly as possible. Punk's hips are restless, thrusting with Jon's sucking, driving his cock into Jon's throat, and his fingers deeper into his ass. He comes far quicker than Jon was expecting, and lies there panting, his shirt clinging to the sweat on his body. Jon leans up, kissing him, sharing the little cum Punk's balls managed to offer with him. "Where was the last place on your list, Punkin? Bed wasn't it?" Jon grins down at Punk who blinks at him. He looks ruined, his pupils blown wide, and Jon can't think of anything more beautiful than Punk in that moment.

"My legs don't work." Punk murmurs, his voice as hazy as his gaze.

"Good thing I'm strong." Jon scoops him up, carrying him to bed, and laying him on the blankets.

"I'm not gonna walk right for days." Punk laughs, pulling Jon down to him, wrapping his legs around his waist. "Clothes off." He mutters, kissing Jon all slow and thorough, his hands holding Jon's face in place.

"Gonna have to let me go so I can get undressed." Jon mutters, nipping his way down Punk's throat, shoving his shirt up so he can lap at a nipple.

"Yeah." Punk's legs tighten their hold, and Jon chuckles against his chest. "Yeah, good point." He releases his hold on Jon, sitting up awkwardly to pull his own shirt off, and flopping back down. Jon shakes his head, and strips quickly, taking his place between Punk's spread legs once more. "Slow this time, kay?"

"Of course... Slow and soft, Punkin. Wanna enjoy you." Jon starts kissing along Punk's collarbone, and Punk makes an odd little noise. "What?"

"Trade? I wanna... Just lay down, lemme recover some, and enjoy what's mine." Punk grins at him, and Jon nods, lying on his back, moaning when Punk starts kissing down his neck, his lips soft, his beard rough against Jon's skin. "I never get to pamper you..." Punk murmurs, his voice muffled by the fact he's lapping at one of Jon's nipples. "When you get home, before I let you meet my family, I'm _pampering_ you. Not sure how yet, but I'll think of something." Punk's moved down to Jon's stomach, his tongue making little trails on Jon's skin. "Gonna think long and _hard_ about all the things I wanna do to you... Tell you all about them when you're in lonely hotel rooms with only your hand for company." His tongue dips into Jon's belly button, his teeth nipping at this skin around it. "Might take you out to some fancy restaurant, dress you up all pretty, show you off some... Might cook for you and use you as a plate..." He bypasses Jon's cock and sucks on one of his balls, the little sack of flesh getting a thorough tongue bath, before the other receives the same treatment. "Maybe, I'll ask your _brothers_ if you've told them about some secret kink, and try and fulfil it for you..." He moves down Jon's legs, lapping at his thighs, nibbling at his kneecap. "Or maybe I'll run you a bubble bath, buy your favourite pizza and break your brain by being the most ridiculous, romantic thing in the World." Punk's lips are on his ankle, and he looks up meeting Jon's eyes."Hmm... Wait, that'd be theft, wouldn't it?" He chuckles, and Jon hold his hand down to Punk. "I'll think of something, don't worry." Punk takes one of Jon's fingers into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks on it, his tongue swirling around the digit. He lets it go with a pop, and kisses his way up Jon's arm, to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. "You're so hard, Cabbage Patch... Cause of me?" He grins, and leans over the bed, grabbing a little bottle of lube from the nightstand, and starts coating Jon's cock.

"Only for you, Punkin... No one else compares to you." Jon manages to grind out. Punk's started playing with his own hole, reapplying lube to his stretched ass. The visual of Punk playing with himself is more than a little distracting. "Lie down, I wanna... I wanna be on top of you, wanna see you come under me." Punk laughs at him, and Jon smiles with a snort of amusement.

"I don't know if ol' little Punk is up to three in one go... A few years ago, for sure... But you're dating an old man." Punk lies on his back, and Jon settles over him, slowly easing inside Punk's body, his eyes drifting closed at the feeling of Punk's flesh welcoming him in.

"You're not old, Phil... You're _seasoned_." Jon laughs, and Punk snorts, his arms and legs wrapping around Jon.

"You taking dealing with Punk tips from Bana? I'm only Phil when I'm whining or being an asshole with him." Punk moans, his body rippling around Jon, and he nips at Punk's throat.

"Mr Cabana is a wise man, never let it be said otherwise." Jon intones solemnly, and Punk nods, relaxing his hold just enough to let Jon move inside of him. It's a far softer, far slower, far gentler pace that Jon sets this time, rocking inside Punk like waves lapping at the shore. His orgasm builds to the sound of Punk's quiet moans, and hushed gasps, when he comes it's with Punk managing a third orgasm, _singing_ his name beneath him. They lie tangled together for a long time, the air between them heavy and comfortable, like a down-filled comforter.

"Oh fuck..." Punk moans, his hair and skin shining with his sweat. "I can't feel my legs..." He laughs softly, his legs stiffly unwrapping from around Jon's waist. It's with great reluctance that Jon pulls out of him, flopping face down on the bed at Punk's side.

"I could sleep for a week." Jon laughs, and Punk makes an agreeing noise. "So... A good celebration?" Punk laughs at Jon's question, and nuzzles against him.

"The best. Sleepy... Nap and I'll feed you when I wake up?" Punk already sounds like he might be drifting off to sleep, and really Jon can't say he blames him. Their celebration of Punk becoming an author was _vigorous_, and a nap sounds like a wonderful idea.

The next morning, sees breakfast, packing and more randomly snuggling kisses that Jon is going to miss painfully. He enjoys his domestication far more than he'd expected, and he misses it when he's left to fend for himself. Just before he has to leave, Punk catches him by the door with a soft kiss.

"You want me to call when I land?" Jon strokes Punk's waist absently, holding him close, trying to fill as much of the void in his chest with the feeling of Punk as he can. When he's in Europe it's going to suck, it's going to be the worst, because there's no way to have Punk there, nothing beyond phone calls and the Internet.

"Uh-huh." Punk sounds soft, sounds reluctant, like the last thing he wants is for Jon to go. "Soon as you can, call me." He lifts his head from where it was tucked against Jon's neck and smiles, something sad clinging to the edges of the expression. "Who're your road buddies gonna be?" He asks, and Jon shrugs. Last time it'd be Joe, but he's still out with his innards all being fucked up, and he can't very well hang out with Colby, kayfabe maybe dead, but he's not one to spit on graves.

"Dunno... I've been hanging with Joe's cousins." Punk nods at Jon, an odd look on his face.

"I've been thinking..." He says quietly, and Jon makes an encouraging noise, wanting Punk to share his thoughts. "If you see him... I mean I think he's over there, so _if_ you see him, tell Jericho I said hi." Jon frowns, and Punk grins at him. "What? He was my friend... I was thinking about what Cena said, and he's right." Jon scowls holding Punk a little tighter.

"I don't like any sentence with the phrase Cena and right coming from you." Jon mutters, and Punk laughs, leaning up for a kiss.

"He _said_ that I quit WWE, and he was right. I didn't quit my friends though, so if, and when you see Jericho tell him hi, and that his new album sucks." Punk laughs, and Jon stares at him. "What? It does suck... It's awful. Cabana made me listen to it as punishment for making him play NHL ninety-four again."

"Your mom is a cruel man." Jon grins, and Punk nods, nuzzling at Jon's neck.

"He is, but he looks out for us, and wants you to let him know when you get to Europe." Punk murmurs, his arms tightening around Jon, holding himself tight against Jon's body.

"Why?" It's a surprise, but Jon supposes that there will be some weird Chicago bred bastard reason for it.

"I _told_ you, he frets... It's a long flight and he worries, so let him know you get there safe. Sheesh... He makes me call him when I land safe on internal flights... You know you have that to look forward to, it's only going to get worse. You keep being _perfect_ for me, and my Bana will be yours too." Punk laughs, and Jon shrugs. He thinks that it might not be so bad having a Cabana, and Punk thinks he's _perfect_ for him. If ever there was a brain-breaking thought, it's that. Jon's never been perfect for anyone or anything, but getting the shit beat out of him in the ring. "What?" Punk leans back, meeting Jon's eyes. "You've gone all quiet... And why are you looking at me like that?" Jon shakes his head, and pulls Punk in for a kiss.

"Looking at you like what?" Jon's pretty sure he has to be wearing the same expression Punk is, that soft expression that says _everything is absolutely perfect because you're with me_.

"Like... I dunno. No one's ever looked at me like that before." Punk mumbles, glancing away, almost but not quite hiding behind some kind of mental wall. Jon's pretty sure, Punk's just realised what he said and is a little freaked out by it, because Jon would be too.

"No one ever will, Punkin, no one is _ever_ going to love you the way I do... No one's ever going to love _me_ the way you do." Jon laughs, and lets Punk go to grab his bag. Punk's hand on his cheek stops him from moving though. Just that simple, barely there touch has all the power over Jon in the World. No one he's ever met has the ability to calm him with nothing more than their touch.

"They won't... I promise you." Punk says softly, his other hand in his pocket. "I got you a going away present, and _no_ it's not a fucking fleshlight." He snaps, and Jon laughs, a grin spreading over his lips. Punk takes his hand and presses something small and hard against Jon's palm. "I don't expect you to wear, I think it's the wrong size, and it means as little or as much as you want it to, but I _want_ you to have it, okay?" Jon glances down into his palm, at the plain little circle of metal there, and then up at the odd expression on Punk's face, at the almost tentative nervousness in his eyes.

"As much or as little as I want, huh?" Jon asks, and Punk nods, still not meeting Jon's eyes. "I see..." He thinks he does, he thinks he knows how much he wants this to mean, he thinks he knows how much Punk wants this to mean. "You got a bit of string? I'll wear it round my neck, Punkin." Punk laughs at Jon, and fishes a thin black cord from his pocket.

"I figured you'd say that, Cabbage Patch." He grins at Jon, and takes the ring from him, threading the cord through it. Jon bows his head, letting Punk tie it in place. "Wouldn't want Tumblr getting all fucked up cause Dean _Titty Master_ Ambrose is wearing rings." He laughs, and Jon groans.

"Your titties are gonna have to wait to be mastered, I got a plane to catch." Jon sighs, and cups Punk's cheek, kissing him lightly at first, but Punk deepens it, and Jon is in no position to resist.

"Remember, call me, message Colt, say hi to Jericho, oh! And warn Seth that if he hits you that hard again, I'm going for more lessons with the Gracies, and I will choke him out." Punk sounds serious, and Jon frowns.

"You going to LA?" Punk nods, and Jon can feel his frown deepening. "Don't let them paw at you... Or if there's pawing make sure it's recorded so I can see, and be horribly jealous." He laughs, and Punk shakes his head, pecking Jon on the nose.

"I'm going to see Hardwick... Talking Dead again, but if I'm asked I'll make sure that the pawing is kept to a minimum, and that it's recorded for your viewing pleasure. Now fuck off, darken my door later." Punk ushers Jon to the door, and just before he leaves, Jon pauses, catching the back of Punk's neck, pulling him. The ring around his neck doesn't weight a lot, but its weight is there, and Jon thinks it might fill a little of that hole in his chest. It's a silly thought, but Jon thinks that this might be the next tentative step in their relationship, the next path they're going to take together, and he's more than a little surprised that they've managed it without the Chicago bred bastard cupid's help. Punk looks at him, his eyes wide, and filled with that impossible look of adoration. It's very easy to imagine and to _want_ that look turned to him every day for the rest of his life. This ring can mean as much or as little as Jon wants, and he's pretty sure he knows which he wants it to be.

"It means _a lot_."

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><p><em>Many thanks to the ladies and gentlemen who reviewed:<em>

**Johncenapunkjericholic, littleone1389, Rebellecherry and Brokenspell77.**_  
><em>

_And we are done here people! Finished, finito, done... No more in this one and I am so glad... I was running out of synonyms for bloom..._

__**Reviews, comments, concerns and asides are always welcomed.**__


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